Hush Hush: Maximum Ride Style
by 1MaximumRide
Summary: This is just like Hush Hush but in Maximum Ride style. Summary: Maximum Ride is your average tomboy who kicks ass and fights for what she believes in, but she is quite studious. Her best friend, Nudge follows her everywhere she goes, trying to get Max to date a guy instead of kicking their ass. But there's a new dark mysterious student, Fang. Full summary inside! FAXNESS!
1. Chapter 1

**Maximum Ride is your average tomboy who kicks ass and fights for what she believes in, but she is quite studious. Her best friend, Nudge follows her everywhere she goes, trying to get Max to date a guy instead of kicking their ass. But there's a new dark mysterious student, Fang. Max finds Fang intolerable and unsettling, and an ass. But Fang tries to be able to draw her in and repel her with his behavior. Fang seems to know more about Max than her best friend does, and after several inexplicable and life-threatening encounters that all seem to involve Fang, Max becomes obsessed with figuring out who Fang is and why he is so determined to be in her life. Her quest for answers lands her in several dangerous situations, finally leading to the stunning reveal that Fang is not who he seems to be…**** I don't own **_**Hush Hush Or Maximum Ride!**_

**PROLOGUE**

**LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE NOVEMBER 1565**

Hans Gunther-Hagen was with a farmer's daughter on the grassy banks of the Loire River when the storm rolled in, and having let his gelding wander in the meadow, was left to his own two feet to carry him back to the château.

Rain sheeted down on the darkening countryside surrounding the Château de Hagen. Hans stepped easily over the sunken graves and humus of the cemetery; even in the thickest fog he could find his way home from here and not fear getting lost. There was no fog tonight, but the darkness and onslaught of rain were deceiving enough.

There was movement along the fringe of Hans's vision, and he snapped his head to the left. At first glance, he thought it was a large angel topping a nearby monument. But it was neither stone nor marble, it was a boy. His torso was naked, his feet were bare, and peasant trousers hung low on his waist. He hopped down from the monument, the ends of his black hair dripping rain. It slid down his face.

Hans's hand went to the hilt of his sword. "Who goes there?"

The boy's mouth hinted at a smile.

"Do not play games with the Duc de Hagen," Chauncey warned. "I asked for your name. Give it."

"Duc?" The boy leaned against a twisted willow tree. "Or bastard?"

Hans unsheathed his sword. "Take it back! My father was the Duc de Hans. I'm the Duc de Hans now," he added clumsily, and cursed himself for it.

The boy gave a lazy shake of his head. "Your father wasn't the old duc."

Hans seethed at the outrageous insult. "And your father?" he demanded, extending the sword. He didn't yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory. "I'll ask once more," he said in a low voice, wiping a hand down his face to clear away the rain. "Who are you?"

The boy walked up and pushed the blade aside. He suddenly looked older than Hans had presumed, maybe even a year or two older than Hans. "One of the Devil's brood," he answered.

Hans felt a clench of fear in his stomach. "You're a raving lunatic," he said through his teeth. "Get out of my way."

The ground beneath Hans tilted. Bursts of gold and red popped behind his eyes. Hunched with his fingernails grinding into his thighs, he looked up at the boy, blinking and gasping, trying to make sense of what was happening. His mind reeled like it was no longer his to command.

The boy crouched to level their eyes. "Listen carefully. I need something from you. I won't leave until I have it. Do you understand?"

Gritting his teeth, Hans shook his head to express his disbelief—his defiance. He tried to spit at the boy, but it trickled down his chin, his tongue refusing to obey him.

The boy clasped his hands around Hans's; their heat scorched him and he cried out.

"I need your oath of fealty," the boy said. "Bend on one knee and swear it."

Hans commanded his throat to laugh harshly, but his throat constricted and he choked on the sound. His right knee buckled as if kicked from behind, though no one was there, and he stumbled forward into the mud. He bent sideways and retched.

"Swear it," the boy repeated.

Heat flushed Hans's neck; it took all his energy to curl his hands into two weak fists. He laughed at himself, but there was no humor. He had no idea how, but the boy was inflicting the nausea and weakness inside him. It would not lift until he took the oath. He would say what he had to, but he swore in his heart he would destroy the boy for this humiliation.

"Lord, I become your man," Hans said venomously.

The boy raised Hans to his feet. "Meet me here at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan.

"During the two weeks between new and full moons, I'll need your service."

"A…fortnight?" Chauncey's whole frame trembled under the weight of his rage. "I am the Duc de Hagen!"

"You are a Nephil," the boy said on a sliver of a smile.

Hans had a profane retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. His next words were spoken with icy venom. "What did you say?"

"You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven."

"You're half mortal." The boy's dark eyes lifted, meeting Hans's. "Half fallen angel."

Hans's tutor's voice drifted up from the recesses of his mind, reading passages from the Bible, telling of a deviant race created when angels cast from heaven mated with mortal women. A fearsome and powerful race. A chill that wasn't entirely revulsion crept through Hans. "Who are you?"

The boy turned, walking away, and although Hans wanted to go after him, he couldn't command his legs to hold his weight. Kneeling there, blinking up through the rain, he saw two thick scars on the back of the boy's naked torso. They narrowed to form an upside down V.

"Are you—fallen?" he called out. "Your wings have been stripped, haven't they?"

The boy—angel—whoever he was, did not turn back. Hans did not need the confirmation.

"This service I'm to provide," he shouted. "I demand to know what it is!"

The air resonated with the boy's low laughter.

**Okay I got this part form the book (Hush Hush) but I will change the next ones to make it more Max. But first…Reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Coldwater, Maine: **_**Present Day**_

Another hour and forty minutes in Bilogy class with Coach. No one knows his full name, since he prefers everyone calls him Coach. But hey, al least I sit next to Nudge (Monique), my best friend in the world (more like my only closest friend… or only friend?) I shrugged at the thought and went over to my seat, but stopped dead in my tracks. Mysteriously adhered to the chalkboard was a Barbie doll, with Ken at her side. They'd been forced to link arms and were naked except for artificial leaves placed in a few choice locations. Scribbled above their heads in thick pink chalk was the invitation:

**WELCOME TO HUMAN REPRODUCTION (SEX)**

.Compute. Nudge, beside me, groaned in disapproval and pointed to that.

"This is exactly why the school outlaws camera phones. Pictures of this in the eZine would be all the evidence I'd need to get the board of education to ax biology. And then we'd have this hour to do something productive—like receive one-on- one tutoring from cute upper-class guys," she said.

I cocked and eyebrow and smiled at her. "I thought you've been wanting for this unit to be taught already?" I asked her. She smiled evily at me.

"I'm pretty sure I know everything in this class and what isn't in it," she said suggestively. I snorted and shook my head. I love her, but she's just…let's say weird sometimes. Then the coach blew on his whistle, and we took the cue to sit down. Nudge skipped to her seat.

I took my time and was about halfway, when Coach blew his whistle. Again. I knew it was directed at me.

"Mrs. Ride, please take your time," he said, tapping his wrist watch.

"Okay," I said and slowed my pace. Everyone laughed and Coach rolled his eyes. I smiled and sat down. Nudge giggled next to me.

"Alright Ladies! You all should know that the deed is more than a fifteen minute trip to the backseat of a car…It's science and what is science ladies?" he told the class.

"Gee…uh…oh I know! It's boring!" said some guy behind us. We laughed. I placed my feet on top of the table and leaned back on my chair, until I rested my weight on the back legs. Coach's eyes landed on me.

"Feet off the table!" he barked. I just stared at him and crossed my arms. He sighed. I just shrugged.

"You know you'd make my job easier if you would follow the rules," he said, leaning forward from his desk.

"Okay…I'll keep that in mind," I said, tapping my head with my finger. Everyone in the room snorted and Nudge hit my shoulder playfully, her eyes pleading. Nudge is a goody goody sometimes…

I sighed and did as was told. The coach gave me a tight smile.

"Now that we're talking…what exactly is science, Max?" he asked. I let out a heavy sigh and answered.

"The study of something…Knowledge gained through experimentation and observation," I added. Yeah I'm kinda of a studious person you could say…

"Paraphrase," he said. Okay.

"It's an investigation," I said, casually with a shrug. Coach clapped his hands together once nodding in approval. The only reason I'm in this school is because of my grades…since I'm always kicking someone's ass.

"Exactly! Science is an investigation! Better yet, Science requires us to transform into spies!" said Coach; a bit too enthusiastically is you ask me. Well…when you put it that way…science almost sounds fun…

"Good sleuthing requires practice!" said Coach.

"Yeah? So does Sex!" said a dude behind us. Dear lord…I snickered and so did the class.

"That won't be part of tonight's homework." Coach turned his attention back to me. "Max, you've been sitting next to Monique since the beginning of the year." I nodded but I had a feeling about where this was going. "Both of you are on the school eZine together." Again I nodded. "I bet you know quite a bit about each other."

Nudge kicked my leg under our table. I knew what she was thinking. That he had no idea how much we knew about each other. And I don't just mean the secrets we entomb in our diaries. Nudge is like…my un twin.

She's got brown eyes, mocha colored skin, really curly brown hair and she's skinny. I've got dirty blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes and I'm skinny as well. She's a bit of a bad ass at times but most of the time she's, here it comes again, a goody goody. I'm a badass who never follows the rules, crazy, sporty, and kicks anyone's ass (especially boys). We're quite opposites. But there is an invisible thread that ties us together; both of us swear that tie began long before birth. Both of us swear it will continue to hold for the rest of our lives.

"In fact, I'll bet each of you knows the person sitting beside you well enough. You picked the seats you did for a reason, right? Familiarity. Too bad the best sleuths avoid familiarity. It dulls the investigative instinct. Which is why, today, we're creating a new seating chart," said Coach smiling at everyone. What the hell…

"Shit," I said. Coach looked at me and narrowed his eyes. He has a no cussing rule, which no one ever follows.

"What the fuck? It's April. As in, it's almost the end of the year. You can't pull this kind of crap now," said Nudge. I nodded, agreeing. And unless Coach didn't want me to beat up a lucky kid, I suggest he changes his mind…See? Even Nudge doesn't follow this rule.

Coach hinted at a smile. "I can pull this crap clear up to the last day of the semester. And if you fail my class, you'll be right back here next year, where I'll be pulling this kind of crap all over again."

Nudge rolled her eyes and hissed a curse. She huffed and almost and gave him the finger, well below the table, where I could only see. I smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder.

"Every partner sitting on the left hand side of the table—that's your left—move up one seat. Those in the front row—yes, including you, Monique—move to the back." My hands curled into tight fists, making my knuckles white

Nudge shoved her notebook inside her backpack and ripped the zipper shut. I bit my lip and waved a small farewell. Then I turned slightly, checking out the room behind me. I knew the names of all my classmates…except one. The transfer. Coach never called on him, and he seemed to prefer it that way.

He sat slouched one table back, cool black eyes holding a steady gaze forward. Just like always. I didn't for one moment believe he just sat there, day after day, staring into space. He was thinking something, but instinct told me I probably didn't want to know what.

He walked to the seat next to me and set his bio text down on the table and slid into Nudge's old chair. I hate guys. I've mentioned that right? The guy wore all black clothes, to match his hair that fell over his eyes…and his eyes? Yup his eyes look black. Black as night, showing no emotion, but only taking in everything.

"Max at least tell him what your name is. Everyone is already talking to their partners. And I'm sure he doesn't know you well" teased Coach. Ass. I glared at him and stuck my tongue out, making him laugh. I rolled my eyes and growled inwardly.

"I'm Maximum Ride," I hissed, glancing at him. I don't use my full name and everyone sticks to calling me Max, or else…you might get stuffed into a nearest small space. I don't usually beat up girls, only popular ones, but yeah, I usually beat up boys.

His black eyes sliced into me, and the corners of his mouth tilted up. My heart fumbled a beat and in that pause, a feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instant, but I was still staring at him. His smile wasn't friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble.

I refocused my eyes on the chalkboard, where idiot Ken and stupid Barbie smiled back.

"Right, well. Human reproduction can be a sticky subject-"

"Yuck!" groaned some students. I bit back a smile.

"It requires mature handling. And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing. For the rest of class, practice this technique by finding out as much as you can about your new partner. Tomorrow, bring a write up of your discoveries, and believe me, I'm going to check for authenticity. This is biology, not English, so don't even think about fictionalizing your answers. I want to see real interaction and teamwork." There was an implied 'Or else.'

I sat perfectly still. The ball was in his court—I'd smiled, and look how well that turned out. I wrinkled my nose, trying to figure out what he smelled like. Not cigarettes. Something richer, fouler.

Cigars.

I found the clock on the wall and tapped my pencil in time to the second hand. I planted my elbow on the table and propped my chin on my fist. I blew out a sigh.

Great. At this rate I would fail. Not that it mattered…Nope…Peachy just peachy.

I had my eyes pinned forward, but I heard the soft glide of his pen. The dude was writing, and I wanted to know what. Ten minutes of sitting together didn't qualify him to make any assumptions about me…Right?

Fitting a look sideways, I saw that his paper was several lines deep and growing.

"What are you writing?" I asked.

"And she speaks English," he murmured while scrawling it down, each stroke of his hand both smooth and lazy at once. I scowled and did something I haven't done to any guy.

I leaned as close to him as I dared, trying to read what else he'd written, but he folded the paper in half, concealing the list.

"What did you write?" I demanded. Gripping his wrist and getting ready to kick his ass already. Let's just say…I have a short temper.

He reached for my unused paper, sliding it across the table toward him. He crumpled it into a ball.

Before I could protest, he tossed it at the trash can beside Coach's desk. The shot dropped in.

I stared at the trash can a moment, locked between disbelief and anger. Then I flipped open my notebook to a clean page. "What is your name?" I asked, pencil poised to write. My hand trembling with anger.

I glanced up in time to catch another dark grin. This one seemed to dare me to pry anything out of him.

"Your name?" I repeated, hoping it was my imagination that my voice faltered.

"Call me Fang. I mean it. Call me," he said. He winked when he said it, and I was pretty sure he was making fun of me.

I laced my fingers through his, ignoring the warmth of his strong calloused hand and my speeding heartbeat. I've never done this. I smiled at him. I gripped his hand, tightly and painfully twisted to the other side, almost getting it out of its socket. He hissed in pain and pulled away. I smirked and crossed my arms, looking at my paper.

"What do you do in your leisure time?" I asked after five minutes.

"I don't have free time."

"I'm assuming this assignment is graded, so do me a favor?" I snarled, quietly.

He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "What kind of favor?"

I was pretty sure it was an innuendo, and I grappled for a way to change the subject. I growled and curled my other hand into a fist.

"Free time," he repeated thoughtfully. "I take pictures."

I printed Photography on my paper.

"I wasn't finished," he said. "I've got quite a collection going of an eZine columnist who believes there's truth in eating organic, who writes poetry in secret, and who shudders at the thought of having to choose between Stanford, Yale, and … what's that big one with the H?"

I stared at him a moment, that's the longest sentence I've ever heard him say. And I didn't get the feeling it was a lucky guess.

He knew. And I wanted to know how—right now.

"But you won't end up going to any of them."

"I won't?" I asked without thinking, thinking of a way to beat him up after class.

He hooked his fingers under the seat of my chair, dragging me closer to him. Not sure if I should scoot away and punch his face, or do nothing and feign boredom, I chose the latter.

He said, "Even though you'd thrive at all three schools, you scorn them for being a cliché of achievement. Passing judgment is your third biggest weakness."

"And my second?" I said with quiet rage. Who was this guy? Was this some kind of disturbing joke?

"You don't know how to trust. I take that back. You trust—just all the wrong people."

"And my first?" I demanded.

"You keep life on a short leash."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're scared of what you can't control."

That's it. I shot up, gripping the collar of his shirt and raising a fist to punch his face.

"Son of a-" I was interrupted by the coach's damn whistle. I narrowed my eyes at the coach.

"What?" I hissed.

"Already beating him up? I thought it would take you an hour…now sit down!" he demanded. I let Fang go and sat back down. I gripped the pen, glaring daggers at coach. I didn't even notice when the pen snapped in half. I calmed down after what seemed like forever.

"Do you sleep naked?" he asked. That did it. I punched his stomach, causing him to let out an oof and fall back. Coach blew his whistle.

"You two done!?" shouted Coach.

"No!" I shouted back, ready to kick Fang in the ribs. Coach stopped me.

"Unless you want detention I suggest you stop!" hissed the coach. I rolled my eyes and sat back down.

"You okay?" asked coach to Fang. Fang nodded and sat back in his seat. After some time, he began asking questions again.

"Ever been to a shrink?"

"No," I lied. The truth was, I was in counseling with the school psychologist, Dr. Henry. It wasn't by choice, and it wasn't something I liked to talk about.

"Done anything illegal?" he teased.

"No." That wasn't a lie. I mean yeah I'm a badass, but doing something illegal? That's just something I would not do. "Why don't you ask me something normal? Like … my favorite kind of music?"

"I'm not going to ask what I can guess."

"You do not know what the type of music I listen to or who I listen to."

"Ramones and you like old rock and roll. I bet you play … bass guitar?" He said it like he'd pulled the guess out of thin air.

"Wrong." Another lie, but this one sent a chill rippling along my skin. Who was he really? If he knew I played the bass guitar, what else did he know? I also write songs but not so much…

"What's that?" Fang tapped his pen against the inside of my wrist. Instinctively I pulled away.

"A birthmark."

"Looks like a scar. Are you suicidal, Max?" His eyes connected with mine, and I could feel him laughing. "Parents married or divorced?"

"I live with my mom."

"Where's dad?"

"My dad passed away last year." I swallowed the lump in my throat. I closed my eyes tightly and let out a long sigh, then opened them again.

"How did he die?"

I flinched. "He was—murdered. This is kind of personal territory, if you don't mind."

There was a count of silence and the edge in Fang's eyes seemed to soften a touch. "That must be hard." He sounded like he meant it.

The bell rang and Fang was on his feet, making his way toward the door.

"Really? I didn't even get nothing on you!" I called to him. He turned back and walked toward me. Taking my hand, he scribbled something on it before I thought to pull away.

I looked down at the seven numbers in red ink on my palm and made a fist around them. I wanted to tell him no way was his phone ringing tonight. I wanted to tell him it was his fault for taking all the time questioning me. I wanted a lot of things, but I just stood there looking like I didn't know how to open my mouth.

At last I said, "Like hell I'll call you, nimrod." Smooth, Max. Smooth.

He grinned and was gone.

I stood nailed to the spot, digesting what had just happened. Did he eat up all the time questioning me on purpose? So I'd fail? Did he think one flashy grin would redeem him? Yes, I thought. Yes, he did.

"I won't call!" I called after him. "Not—ever!"

"Have you finished your column for tomorrow's deadline?" It was Nudge. She came up beside me, jotting notes on the notepad she carried everywhere. "I'm thinking of writing mine on the injustice of seating charts. I got paired with a girl who said she just finished lice treatment this morning."

"My new partner," I said, pointing into the hallway at the back of Fang. He had an annoyingly confident walk, the kind you find paired with faded T shirts and a cowboy hat. Fang wore neither. He was a dark Levi's , dark henley , dark boots kind of guy.

"The senior transfer? Guess he didn't study hard enough the first time around. Or the second." She gave me a knowing look. "Third time's a charm."

"He's a total weirdo. He knew my music. Without any hints whatsoever, he said, 'Ramones and old rock and roll.' " I did a poor job of mimicking his low voice.

"Lucky guess?"

"He knew…other things."

"Like what?"

I let go of a sigh. He knew more than I wanted to comfortably contemplate. "Like how to get under my skin," I said at last. "I'm going to tell Coach he has to switch us back."

"Go for it. I could use a hook for my next eZine article. 'Tenth Grader Fights Back.' Better yet, 'Seating Chart Takes Slap in the Face.' Mmm. I like it," she said, miling to the air.

At the end of the day, I was the one who took a slap in the face. Coach shot down my demand to rethink the seating chart. It appeared I was stuck with Fang.

For now.

**Reviews please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2:**

My mom and I live in a drafty eighteenth century farmhouse on the outskirts of Coldwater. It's the only house on Hawthorne Lane, and the nearest neighbors are almost a mile away. I sometimes wonder if the original builder realized that out of all the plots of land available, he chose to construct the house in the eye of a mysterious atmospheric inversion that seems to suck all the fog off Maine's coast and transplant it into our yard. The house was at this moment veiled by gloom that resembled escaped and wandering spirits.

I spent the evening planted on a stool in the kitchen in the company of algebra homework and Anne, our housekeeper. My mom works for Jeff in an Auction Company, coordinating estate and antique auctions all along the East Coast. Yeah he doesn't really got a last name. This week she was in upstate New York. Her job required a lot of travel, and she paid Anne to cook and clean, but I was pretty sure the fine print on Anne's job description included keeping a watchful, parental eye on me.

"How was school?" Anne asked, drying her hands in her apron, after washing dishes.

"I have a new biology partner," I said, harshly slamming my book down on the table.

"This is a bad thing," she mumbled to herself. I nodded.

"Nudge was my old partner."

"Humph."

I sighed in agreement.

"Tell me about the new partner. This girl, what is she like?"

"He's tall, dark, and annoying." And eerily closed off. Fang's eyes were black orbs. Taking in everything and giving away nothing. Not that I wanted to know more about Fang. No sir. Since I hadn't liked what I'd seen on the surface, I doubted I'd like what was lurking deep inside.

Only, this wasn't exactly true. I'd liked a lot of what I'd seen. Long, lean muscles down his arms, broad but relaxed shoulders, and a smile that was part playful, part seductive. I was in an uneasy alliance with myself, trying to ignore what had started to feel irresistible.

At nine o'clock Anne finished for the evening and locked up on her way out. I flashed the porch lights twice to say good bye; they must have penetrated the fog, because she answered with a honk. I was alone. For the whole night. Nothing new…

I took inventory of the feelings playing out inside me. I wasn't hungry. Though I could eat some of mom's famous chocolate chip cookies…if she were here. I wasn't tired. I wasn't even all that lonely. But I was a little bit restless about my biology assignment. I'd told Fang I wouldn't call, and six hours ago I'd meant it. All I could think now was that I didn't want to fail. Biology was my toughest subject, even though Nudge says I'm a pro at it. My grade tottered problematically between A and B. In my mind, that was the difference between a full and half scholarship in my future.

I went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. I looked at what was left of the seven numbers still tattooed on my hand. Secretly I hoped Fang didn't answer my call. If he was unavailable or uncooperative on assignments, it was evidence I could use against him to convince Coach to undo the seating chart. Feeling hopeful, I keyed in his number.

Fang answered on the third ring. "What's up?"

In a matter of fact tone I said, "I'm calling to see if we can meet tonight. I know you said you're busy, but—"

"Max." Fang said my name like it was the punch line to a joke, I felt him smile. "Thought you weren't going to call. Ever."

I hated that I was eating my words. I hated Fang for rubbing it in. I hated Coach and his deranged assignments. I opened my mouth, hoping something smart would come out. "Well? Can we meet or not?"

"As it turns out, I can't."

"Can't, or won't?" I snarled. This guy…

"I'm in the middle of a pool game." I heard the smile in his voice. "An important pool game."

From the background noise I heard on his end, I believed he was telling the truth—about the pool game. Whether it was more important than my assignment was up for debate.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Bo's Arcade. I'd say it kind of would be your kind of hangout."

"Okay…I don't feel like I want to go there, but maybe we could—"

He hung up on me.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Jackass, Dick-head. Idiot. Want to knock his lights out every time I see him.

Excellent physical shape.

I grunted at the last part and scribbled over it.

The microwave clock blinked to 9:05. As I saw it, I had two choices. Either I fabricated my interview with Patch, or I drove to Bo's Arcade. The first option might have been tempting, if I could just block out Coach's voice warning that he'd check all answers for authenticity. I didn't know enough about Fang to bluff my way through a whole interview. And the second option? Tempting.

I delayed making a decision long enough to call my mom. Part of our agreement for her working and traveling so much was that I act responsibly and not be the kind of daughter who required constant supervision. I liked my freedom, and I didn't want to do anything to give my mom a reason to take a pay cut and get a local job to keep an eye on me.

On the fourth ring her voice mail picked up.

"It's me," I said. "Just checking in. I've got some biology homework to finish up, then I'm going to bed. Call me at lunch tomorrow, if you want. Love you."

After I hung up, I found a quarter in the kitchen drawer. Best to leave complicated decisions to fate.

"Heads I go," I told George Washington's profile, "tails I stay." I flipped the quarter in the air, flattened it to the back of my palm, and dared a peek. My heart squeezed out an extra beat, and I told myself I wasn't sure what it meant.

"It's out of my hands now," I said.

Determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, I grabbed a map off the fridge, snagged my keys, and backed my Fiat Spider down the driveway. The car had probably been awesome in 1979, but I wasn't wild about the chocolate brown paint, the rust spreading unchecked across the back fender, or the cracked white leather seats.

Bo's Arcade turned out to be farther away than I would have liked, nestled close to the coast, a thirty minute drive. With the map flattened to the steering wheel, I pulled the Fiat into a parking lot behind a large cinder block building with an electric sign flashing BO'S ARCADE, MAD BLACK PAINTBALL & OZZ'S POOL HALL.

Graffiti splashed the walls, and cigarette butts dotted the foundation. Clearly Bo's would be filled with future Ivy Leaguers and model citizens. I tried to keep my thoughts lofty and nonchalant.. Double checking that I'd locked all the doors, I headed inside. Why did the idiot think this was my sort of place?

I stood in line, waiting to get past the ropes. As the group ahead of me paid, I squeezed past, walking toward the maze of blaring sirens and blinking lights.

"Think you deserve a free ride?" hollered a smoke roughened voice. I curled my hands into fists, feeling this would get ugly.

I swung around and blinked at the heavily tattooed cashier. I snarled, "I'm not here to play. I'm looking for someone."

He grunted. "You want past me, you pay." He put his palms on the counter, where a price chart had been duct taped, showing I owed fifteen dollars. Cash only.

I didn't have cash. And if I had, I wouldn't have wasted it to spend a few minutes interrogating Fang about his personal life. I felt a flush of anger at the seating chart and at having to be here in the first place.

I only needed to find Fang, and then we could hold the interview outside. I was not going to drive all this way and leave empty handed.

"If I'm not back in two minutes, I'll pay the fifteen dollars," I said. I ducked under the ropes. I didn't stop there. I hurried through the arcade, keeping my eyes open for Fang. At this point I just wanted to find Fang.

The cashier followed after me, shouting, "Hey!"

Certain Fang was not on the main level, I jogged downstairs, following signs to Ozz's Pool Hall. At the bottom of the stairs, dim track lighting illuminated several poker tables, all in use. Cigar smoke almost as thick as the fog enveloping my house clouded the low ceiling. Nestled between the poker tables and the bar was a row of pool tables. Fang was stretched across the one farthest from me, attempting a difficult bank shot.

"Patch!" I called out.

Just as I spoke, he shot his pool stick, driving it into the table top. His head whipped up. He stared at me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

The cashier clomped down the steps behind me, vising my shoulder with his hand. "Upstairs. Now." My face turned into a "get your hands off me before I kill you" face. He looked at me and removed his hand looking at my expression.

Fang's mouth moved into another barely there smile. Hard to say if it was mocking or friendly. "She's with me."

With that I took the first several steps in stride, but found my confidence slipping the closer I got to him.

I was immediately aware of something different about him. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I could feel it like electricity. More animosity?

More confidence.

More freedom to be himself. And those black eyes were getting to me. They were like magnets clinging to my every move. I swallowed discreetly and tried to ignore the queasy tap dance in my stomach. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about Fang wasn't right. Something about him wasn't normal. Something wasn't…safe.

"Sorry about the hang-up," Fang said, coming beside me. "The reception's not great down here."

Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes in response.

With a tilt of his head, Fang motioned the others to leave. There was an uneasy silence before anybody moved. The first guy to leave bumped into my shoulder as he walked past. I looked up just in time to receive cold eyes from the other two players as they departed. I scowled at them and my knuckles turned white.

Great. It wasn't my fault Fang was my partner.

"Eight ball?" I asked him, raising my eyebrows and trying to sound completely sure of myself, of my surroundings. Maybe he was right and Bo's was my kind of place. That didn't mean I was going to stay. "How high are the stakes?"

His smile widened. This time I was pretty sure he was mocking me. "We don't play for money."

I leaned forward on the table. "Too bad. I was going to bet everything I have against you." I held up my assignment, two lines already filled. "A few quick questions and I'm out of here."

"Jerk?" Fang read out loud, leaning on his pool stick. "Lung cancer? Idiot? Dick-head? Jack-ass? Want to knock his lights out every time I see him?"

I fanned the assignment through the air. "I'm assuming you contribute to the atmosphere. How many cigars a night? One? Two?"

"I don't smoke." He sounded sincere, but I didn't buy it.

"Mm- hmm," I said, setting the paper down between the eight ball and the solid purple. I accidentally nudged the solid purple while writing Definitely cigars on line three.

"You're messing up the game," Patch said, still smiling.

"I do not give a crap, dude," I said. I caught his eye and couldn't help but match his smile—briefly.

"Hopefully not in your favor. Biggest dream?"

I was proud of this one because I knew it would stump him. It required forethought.

"Kiss you." I flinched and stiffened. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"That's not funny," I said, holding his eyes.

"No, but it made you blush."

I boosted myself onto the side of the table, trying to look impassive. I crossed my legs, using my knee as a writing board. "Do you work?" raising an eyebrow.

"I bus tables at the Borderline. Best Mexican in town."

"Religion?"

He didn't seem surprised by the question, but he didn't seem overjoyed by it either. "I thought you said a few quick questions. You're already at number four."

"Religion?" I asked more firmly, sighing after I asked it, sounding bored.

Fang dragged a hand thoughtfully along the line of his jaw. "Not religion…cult."

"You belong to a cult?" I realized too late that while I sounded surprised, I shouldn't have. I don't care about him, only about this assignment.

"As it turns out, I'm in need of a healthy female sacrifice. I'd planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you're ready now…"

Any smile left on my face slid away. "You're not impressing me." I scowled, and jumped off, facing him. He's a head taller than me. Who does he think he is?

"I haven't started trying yet." If he gets any further…

"Nudge told me you're a senior. How many times have you failed tenth grade biology? Once? Twice?"

"Nudge isn't my spokesperson."

"Are you denying failing?"

"I'm telling you I didn't go to school last year." His eyes taunted me. It only made me more angry.

"You were truant?"

Fang laid his pool stick across the tabletop and crooked a finger for me to come closer. I didn't. "A secret?" he said in confidential tones. "I've never gone to school before. Another secret? It's not as dull as I expected." I raised my eyebrows.

He was lying. Everyone went to school. There were laws. He was lying to get a rise out of me. Which he's doing a pretty damn good job at.

"You think I'm lying," he said around a smile.

"You've never been to school, ever? If that's true—and you're right, I don't think it is—what made you decide to come this year?"

"You."

The impulse to feel scared pounded through me, but I told myself that was exactly what Patch wanted. He's lying.

Standing my ground, I tried to act annoyed instead. Still, it took me a moment to find my voice. "That's not a real answer."

He must have taken a step closer, because suddenly our bodies were separated by nothing more than a shallow margin of air. "Your eyes, Max. Those big, chocolate brown eyes are surprisingly irresistible." He tipped his head sideways, as if to study me from a new angle. "And that killer curvy mouth."

"That's it!" I rolled up my sleeves fast and punched him in the jaw, making him stagger back. Since no one is here… I kicked him on where it hurts and on the side and punched his stomach, hard. Making him fall with an oof. I punched him on the chest, until I was sure he had enough. My dad told me I threw mean punches.

"What's with you and punching me?" he said, after staggering up. Fang wiped the corner of his mouth with his finger, since blood ran down. It looked really dark. I studied is closely. Fang noticed and tipped my chin up, and forced me to stare into his eyes. I snarled a curse and was about to punch him, when I froze.

I felt this weird pressure in my head, like forcing something out. It's like my thoughts slipped into the air. I couldn't remember what happened a minute ago. _Relax…nothing happened. Forget about what happened,_ whispered a seductive voice in to my head. I did what it told me. Then I answered Fang's question.

"I punch people I hate. People I can't stand. People who are idiots. People like you," I growled and punched his chest one more time. After a while, I calmed down. My psychologist has told me to count to ten and exhale long deep breaths, with eyes closed.

"You seem to know a lot about me," I said, making the under statement of the year. "More than you should. You seem to know exactly what to say to make me uncomfortable," I hissed.

"You make it easy."

A spark of anger fired through me. "You admit you're doing this on purpose?"

"This?"

"This—provoking me."

"Say 'provoking' again. Your mouth looks provocative when you do."

"We're done. Finish your pool game." I grabbed his pool stick off the table and pushed it at him. He didn't take it.

"I don't like sitting beside you," I said. "I don't like being your partner. I don't like your condescending smile." My jaw twitched— something that typically happened only when I lied. I wondered if I was lying now. If I was, I wanted to kick myself. "I don't like you. At all" I said as convincingly as I could, and thrust the stick against his chest.

"I'm glad Coach put us together," he said. I detected the slightest irony on the word "Coach," but I couldn't figure out any hidden meaning. This time he took the pool stick. I shook with anger.

"I'm working to change that," I countered.

Fang thought this was so funny, his teeth showed through his smile. He reached for me, and before I could move away, he untangled something from my hair.

"Piece of paper," he explained, flicking it to the ground. As he reached out, I noticed a marking on the inside of his wrist. At first I assumed it was a tattoo, but a second look revealed a ruddy brown, slightly raised birthmark. It was the shape of a splattered paint drop.

"That's an unfortunate place for a birthmark," I said, more than a little unnerved that it was so similarly positioned to my own scar.

Fang casually but noticeably slid his sleeve down over his wrist. "You'd prefer it someplace more private?"

"I wouldn't prefer it anywhere." I wasn't sure how this sounded and tried again. "I wouldn't care if you didn't have it at all." I tried a third time. "I don't care about your birthmark, period."

"Any more questions?" he asked. "Comments?"

"No."

"Then I'll see you in bio." Ugh…

I thought about telling him he'd never see me again. But I wasn't going to eat my words twice in one day.

"See ya dick-head," i said, and walked out.

* * *

Later that night a crack! Pulled me out of sleep. With my face mashed into my pillow, I held still, all my senses on high alert. My mom was out of town at least once a month for work, so I was used to sleeping alone, and it had been months since I'd imagined the sound of footsteps creeping down the hall toward my bedroom.

The truth was, I never felt completely alone. Right after my dad was shot to death in Portland while buying my mom's birthday gift, a strange presence entered my life. Like someone was orbiting my world, watching from a distance.

At first the phantom presence had creeped me out, but when nothing bad came of it, my anxiety lost its edge. I started wondering if there was a cosmic purpose for the way I was feeling. Maybe my dad's spirit was close by. The thought was usually comforting, but tonight was different. The presence felt like ice on the skin.

Turning my head a fraction, I saw a shadowy form stretching across my floor. I flipped around to face the window, the gauzy shaft of moonlight the only light in the room capable of casting a shadow. But nothing was there. I squeezed my pillow against me and told myself it was a cloud passing over the moon. Or a piece of trash blowing in the wind.

Still, I spent the next several minutes waiting for my pulse to calm down. Even though people say I have no feelings, I do get scared sometimes…since dad died and the presence appeared…

By the time I found the courage to get out of bed, the yard below my window was silent and still. The only noise came from tree branches scraping against the house, and my own heart thrumming under my skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3:**

Coach was in the front of class, blabbering on about something I was not paying attention to. I was doing something more important. Trying to get ideas on why the ding-dong shouldn't be my new partner. I listed them on my hand. After class, I would go over to him and talk to Coach.

But I also kept thinking about Fang's birthmark. Its location is eerie. And again, the incident by my window at night…I don't think Fang was spying on me…right? But it also wasn't a coincidence for someone to be spying on me after I met him.

At the thought of Fang spying on me, I opened my backpack compartment and got two pills from a bottle and swallowed them whole. They got caught in my throat for a moment but after I coughed they went down.

I noticed Fang had his eyebrows raised, out of the corner of my eye. I considered explaining that I was anemic and had to take iron a few times a day, especially when I was under stress, but I thought better. The anemia wasn't life threatening…as long as I took regular doses of iron. I wasn't paranoid to the point that I thought Fang meant me harm, but somehow, my medical condition was a vulnerability that felt better kept secret.

"Ride?" asked Coach. I raised my eyebrows in question. What now?

"What qualities are you attracted to in a potential mate?" Oh god…

I laughed in response and snorted. Coach frowned. I looked over at Fang, who was eased back in his seat, one notch above a slouch, studying me with satisfaction. He flashed his pirate smile and mouthed_, We're waiting_. I narrowed my eyes at him and scowled.

"I don't attract myself to any qualities in a potential mate. Let's just say…I hate guys," I said, with a shrug. I heard Nudge laugh behind me. Every guy groaned. Coach rolled his eyes and moved onto Fang.

"Your turn, Fang" said Coach with a sigh. Fang had himself positioned so his body was angled slightly toward mine, our knees mere inches apart.

"Intelligent. Attractive. Strong."

Coach raised his eyebrows in question. "Strong? That's a first…how?"

"Sir? This isn't even in the text. I didn't know this has anything to do with the unit," said Nudge.

Coach sighed again. "Since the dawn of time, women have been attracted to mates with strong survival skills—like intelligence and physical prowess—because men with these qualities are more likely to bring home dinner at the end of the day." He stuck his thumbs in the air and grinned. "Dinner equals survival, team."

Ha ha. Not funny. No one laughed.

"Likewise," he continued, "men are attracted to beauty because it indicates health and youth—no point mating with a sickly woman who won't be around to raise the children." Coach pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and chuckled.

"That is so sexist," Nudge hissed. "Tell me something that relates to a woman in the twenty first century."

"If you approach reproduction with an eye to science, Miss Monique, you'll see that children are the key to the survival of our species. And the more children you have, the greater your contribution to the gene pool."

I practically heard Nudge's eyes rolling. That's my girl. "I think we're finally getting close to today's topic. Sex."

"Almost," said Coach, holding up a finger. "Before sex comes attraction, but after attraction comes body language. You have to communicate 'I'm interested' to a potential mate, only not in so many words."

"Alright Fang. You're at a party. Imagine you see girls of different shapes and sizes. There's brunettes, redheads, a few with black hair and blondes. Some are talkative but others aren't. You found a girl that suits you-attractive, intelligent and strong. How do you let her know you're interested?" said Coach, scratching his cheek.

"Single her out and talk to her."

"Great! Now for the important question-how do you know if she's game or wants to move on?" Oh boy…

"I study her," Fang said. "I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold my eyes, and then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Max is doing right now?"

Laughter rang behind me. And my hands curled into fists.

"She's game," said Fang, bumping my leg. I blushed and kept my anger in check.

"Very good! Very good!" Coach said, his voice charged, smiling broadly at our attentiveness.

"The blood vessels in Max's face are widening and her skin is warming," Fang said. "She knows she's being evaluated. She likes the attention, but she's not sure how to handle it."

"I am not blushing," I hissed at him.

"She's nervous," Fang said. "She's stroking her arm to draw attention away from her face and down to her figure, or maybe her skin. Both are strong selling points."

I nearly choked. He's joking, I told myself. No, he's insane. I had no experience dealing with lunatics, and it showed. I felt like I spent most of our time together staring at Fang, mouth agape. If I had any illusions about keeping up with him, I was going to have to figure out a new approach. Ten…nine…

I placed my hands flat against the table, held my chin high, and tried to look as if I still possessed some dignity. "This is ridiculous." Seven…six…five

Stretching his arm out to his side with exaggerated slyness, Fang hung it on the back of my chair. I had the strange feeling that this was a threat aimed entirely at me, and that he was unaware and uncaring of how the class received it. They laughed, but he didn't seem to hear it, holding my eyes so singly with his own that I almost believed he'd carved a small, private world for us that no one else could reach. I shot up from my chair, hands in fists.

"Sit down, Maximum!" sighed Coach. I sat down at the use of my full name.

Strong, he mouthed. I gritted my teeth and slapped him on the right cheek. Everyone in the class laughed at Fang. I smiled and looked forward ignoring the coach's urge to laugh.

"And there you have it!" Coach said. "Biology in motion," he said, sarcastically.

"Can we please talk about sex now?" whined Nudge. _Jeez, in a hurry much?_ I mouthed at her. She smiled at me.

"Tomorrow. Read chapter seven and be ready for a discussion first thing."

"That's fun. We should do it again another time," said Fang. With coach erasing the whiteboard behind him, I punched Fang in the stomach for what, the third time? I left him there, on the floor, catching his breath.

"I'm thinking of starting a petition to have Coach fired," huffed Nudge. "What was wrong with the class today? Coach practically had you and Fang on your lab table, horizontal, minus your clothes, doing it-" I interrupted her with a death glare.

"Yeesh. Chillax," said Nudge.

"I'm gonna talk to Coach, I'll meet you at your locker in ten minutes."

"Okay."

I strode over to Coach's table, where he was making an outline for the basketball team's positions for the next game. Looks like a tic-tac-toe game.

"Max," said Coach. "What can I do for you?"

"Change the seating chart between me and the numskull," I said, calmly, referring to Fang.

"I would like to tell you, I like the seating chart, almost as much as the outline for the team's positions on Saturday," he said, crossing his arms.

"He's an idiot," I muttered.

"He's an idiot? That's why you want to change seats?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I growled in frustration. I figured I should come clean…

"I don't feel comfortable…" I murmured.

"Ah," he said.

"Look I have a proposition for you…I'll tutor anyone of your students, if you let me sit with Nudge again," I said. Seems fair enough.

"Fang could use a tutor," he said. His lips twitched.

"That defeats in he point," I hissed.

"You didn't notice he was involved in conversation? He's never said a word all year, and then he sits next to you-bam! He starts talking," banging his fist on the table for emphasis. I curled my hands into fists to keep from rolling my eyes.

"So you're going to let Nudge drop?"

"That happens when you don't pay attention," he said, shrugging.

"I'll tutor her instead," I said.

"Nope…and I'm going to be late, so if you can excuse me?" he said, already leaving to walk through the door. But he turned back.

"Let's try the seating chart a few weeks. Oh and I was serious of you tutoring Fang. I'll count you in," he said, with a tight smile. I growled and on my way out I slammed the door behind me. I went over to Nudge's locker, and punched the one next to hers. Surprisingly, my hand didn't hurt.

Later, we went to go see THE SACRIFICE and came out of the movie theater at seven o'clock. Since Nudge forced the two of us into the ezine, we need to watch movies at review them.

"Freakiest movie ever," said Nudge beside me. "I'm never seeing another horror movie again." I smiled at her in response. It was an okay movie if you ask me.

"Can you imagine?" Nudge said. "Living your whole life never having a clue that the only reason you're being kept alive is to be used as a sacrifice?"

We both shuddered.

"And what was up with that altar?" she continued, annoyingly unaware that I would have rather talked about the life cycle of fungi than about the movie. "Why did the bad guy light the stone on fire before tying her down? When I heard her flesh sizzle—"

"Okay!" I practically shouted. "Where to next?" Maybe more than okay…

"And can I just say if a guy ever kisses me like that, I will start dry heaving. Repulsive doesn't begin to describe what was going on with his mouth. That was makeup, right? I mean, nobody actually has a mouth like that in real life—"

"My review is due by midnight," I said, cutting across her. I did not want to hear this.

"Oh. Right. To the library, then?" Nudge unlocked the doors to her 1995 purple Dodge Neon. "You're being awfully touchy, you know."

I slid into the passenger seat. "Blame the movie." Blame the Peeping Tom at my window last night.

"I'm not talking about just tonight. I've noticed," she said with a mischievous curve of her mouth, "that you've been unusually crabby for a good half hour at the end of bio the past two days."

"Also easy. Blame Fang."

"I gotta admit it, Max. His mysterious ways are calling to me," she sighed. Oh god…

But Nudge wasn't the only one who felt that way. A confession? I feel that way too. I felt drawn to Fang in a way I'd never felt drawn to anyone. There was a dark magnetism between us. Around him, I felt lured to the edge of danger. At any moment, it felt like he could push me over the edge. That's why he's always getting beat up by me.

"Ugh! When you say that about him it makes me want to-" I paused, trying to think exactly what my attraction to Fang made me want to do. Something unpleasant, apart from beating his ass.

"Please say he's at least good looking," she begged. "And I'll never say his name again."

I turned up the volume of the radio, trying to ignore everything about Fang for just a moment.

"Well?" pressed Nudge.

"Hmm?" I asked.

"Heh. He could be good looking…if I actually liked boys," I said. Nudge huffed and I laughed, silently.

"He's…sexy," sighed nudge.

"Ohhh. Barf in my mouth," I gagged. Making gagging sounds. She hit my shoulder and I burst laughing. Yeah Fang was handsome but it's something I would never admit.

"You disagree? Or rough isn't your type?" she asked, sarcastically.

"I don't have a type Nudge. For the last time…I hate guys," I said.

"Someday you're going to fall in love and I'm going to say 'I told you so!'"

"Someday," I echoed and snorted. Love is a weakness. And it's not real.

"I'm serious!" said Nudge. I nodded.

"Besides. You should try to date a guy. You could get anyone you want! You're beautiful, smart, a badass, and you talk about sports! What type of guy wouldn't like that?" asked Nudge.

"Not right now Nudge," I sighed.

"Fine!" she gave up.

"But…have you ever imagined kissing him? Have you ever stolen a peek sideways and imagined flinging yourself at Patch and crushing your mouth to his?" asked Nudge.

"Have you?" I muttered. Nudge grinned evilly. More barfing noises.

"He's not good for you…he's a dick," I said.

"Careful, you're making me want him more," said Nudge, fanning herself with one hand. Kill me now…

"Unlock the doors, I'm going to jump out the car. And remember, don't stop moving," I said, pointing outside. We both laughed. We took our place at a table close to the check-out stand. I opened my laptop and gave it two and a half stars. It doesn't matter. Nudge would edit later. Nudge applied some lipstick and smiled at my rating then looked up. Her face turned into a scowl. I looked too and narrowed my eyes.

There. Lissa Martin. The school's whore, slut, bitch, etc. The only sophomore to make varsity cheerleading in the history of Coldwater High, took a seat on the edge of our table. Her red hair was combed into low pigtails, and like always, her skin was concealed under half a bottle of foundation. I was fairly certain I'd guessed the right amount, since there wasn't a trace of her freckles in sight. I hadn't seen any of Marcie's freckles since seventh grade, the same year she discovered Mary Kay. There was three quarters of an inch between the hem of her skirt and the start of her underwear … if she was even wearing any. Apart from that she has green eyes like a cat's.

"Hi Freakshows," chirped Lissa to Nudge and me.

"Hi Bitch," said Nudge.

"Slut," I coughed out. Nudge laughed and Lissa narrowed her eyes at me. I've always hated her and she's always hated me. I always beat her up and it's fun. The only reason she has no bruises is because of her rich family.

"My mom is looking for models this weekend. The pay is nine dollars an hour. I thought you'd be interested," she told Nudge.

Lissa's mom manages the local JCPenney, and on weekends she has Lissa and the rest of the cheerleaders model bikinis in the store's street facing display windows.

"She's having a really hard time finding dark skinned lingerie models," said Marcie. Racist much? Nudge has dark skin but she's very beautiful. And she was born here. So I don't know why Lissa says that stuff. I shot up from my seat and rolled up my sleeves, ready to beat her up.

"Outside. Now!" I hissed. Lissa is afraid of me. I love it when she cringes in fear, like right now. Nudge patted my arm.

"Max, not now. We're busy remember?" said Nudge I nodded and gave Lissa the finger.

"You've got food stuck in your teeth," Vee told Marcie. "In the crack between your two front teeth. Looks like chocolate Ex Lax …"

Marcie licked her teeth and slid off the table. As she sashayed off, Nudge stuck her finger in her mouth and made gagging gestures at Marcie's back. I smiled at her and high-fived her.

"She's lucky we're in the library. She's lucky we weren't in a dark alley," I said. Nudge laughed and agreed. Nudge nudged my elbow. Ha ha get it? Never mind…

"Speaking of dark…" she said, motioning with her head to the checkout line. I stopped typing and my heart skipped a beat. Fang. I hate it when it does that every time I see him. He stood in the checkout line. As if he sensed me, he turned his head sideways. Our eyes locked for a few seconds. I broke away when a slow grin made its way up his face.

My heartbeat turned erratic, and I told myself to pull it together. I was not going down this path. Not with Fang. Not unless I was out of my mind. I hate guys, I reminded myself.

"Let's leave," I muttered to Nudge. I stuffed my stuff into my old messenger bag and dropped a few books.

"Wait a sec…Yup, he's going to get a book called 'How to Be A Stalker,'" said Nudge.

"You're crazy. He's not checking out a book like that," I muttered. More to myself.

"You're right. It's either that or…'How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying,'" sighed Nudge. I groaned loud enough for her to hear.

"He's talking to the librarian. Checking out the book," she told me. I sighed in relief. I figure that if we speed walk towards the door, we could leave before he does. But he could finish any second and we would confront him, having me to say something. I just sat in my chair and pretended to read a book I dropped.

"I think it's creepy he's here at the same time we are," said Nudge, tapping her chin with a finger.

"in fact I think he's…following you!" she squealed.

"I think it's a coincidence," I lied. If I had to make a list of the top ten places I would expect to find Fang on any given night, the public library wouldn't make it. The library wouldn't make the top hundred places. So what was he doing here?

Then I remembered about the silhouette last night and inwardly shuddered. I hadn't told Nudge, since I hoped I would forget. Obviously not.

"Fang!" Nudge stage whispered. "Are you stalking Max?"

I placed a hand over her mouth to keep her from talking more.

"I bet he's following you! Maybe he has a history of it too. I bet he has restraining orders." she squealed again, jumping up and down on her seat. That gave me an idea.

"We should sneak into the front office. It's gonna be on his student file," I said. I saw Fang smiled at the librarian and did a hair flip, making my heart skip a beat. Damn heart.

"Nope! We're not sneaking into the office," scolded Nudge.

"I could create a diversion. I'm good at diversions. No one would see me go in. We could be like spies."

"We are not spies," frowned Nudge.

"Oh, come on. You love a good mystery, and it doesn't get better than this."

"The best mysteries involve a dead body. We don't have a dead body."

I smiled evilly and curled my hands into fists. "Not yet!"

"Max!" gasped Nudge.

"I'm joking," I laughed. But I once tried to sneak in to get some files to see what the principle would do. I got caught. I mentally created plans. Each failing. Then I got two iron pills and swallowed them together.

"You're not going to drive me home?" I asked. I knew the answer already.

"There's fog."

"You're serious?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"And the fog always gets worse near your house," Nudge continued. "It freaks me out after dark."

I grabbed the keys. "Thanks a lot."

"Don't blame me. Tell your mom to move closer. Tell her there's this thing called civilization. You guys should try it sometime."

"I suppose you expect me to pick you up before school tomorrow?"

"Seven thirty would be nice. Breakfast is on me."

"It better be good."

"Be nice to my baby." She patted the Neon's dash.

On the drive home I allowed my thoughts a brief trip to Fang. Nudge was right—something about him was incredibly alluring. And incredibly creepy. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced something about him was … off. The fact that he liked to antagonize me wasn't exactly a news flash, but there was a difference between getting under my skin in class and possibly going as far as following me to the library to accomplish it. Not many people would go to that much trouble … unless they had a very good reason.

Halfway home a pattering rain flushed out the wispy clouds of fog hovering above the road. Dividing my attention between the road and the controls on the steering wheel, I tried to locate the windshield wipers.

The streetlights flickered overhead, and I wondered if a heavier storm was blowing in. This close to the ocean the weather changed constantly, and a rainstorm could quickly escalate into a flash flood. I fed the Neon more gas.

The outside lights flickered again. A cold feeling prickled up the back of my neck, and the hairs on my arms tingled. My sixth sense graduated to high alert. I asked myself if I thought I was being followed.

There were no headlights in the rearview mirror. No cars ahead, either. I was all alone. It wasn't a very comforting thought. I pushed the car to forty- five.

I found the wipers, but even at top speed they couldn't keep up with the hammering rain. The stoplight ahead turned yellow. I rolled to a stop, checked to see that traffic was clear, then pulled into the intersection.

I heard the impact before I registered the dark silhouette skidding across the hood of the car.

I gasped and stomped on the brake. The silhouette thumped into the windshield with a splintering crack.

On impulse, I jerked the steering wheel a hard right. The back end of the Neon fishtailed, sending me spinning across the intersection. The silhouette rolled and disappeared over the edge of the hood.

I was holding my breath, squeezing the steering wheel between white knuckled hands. I lifted my feet off the pedals. The car bucked and stalled out.

He was crouched a few feet away, watching me. He didn't look at all … injured.

He was dressed in total black and blended with the night, making it hard to tell what he looked like. At first I couldn't distinguish any facial features, and then I realized he was wearing a ski mask. My heart began to pound wildly.

He rose to his feet, closing the distance between us. He flattened his palms to the driver's side window.

Our eyes connected through the holes in the mask. A lethal smile seemed to rise in his.

He gave another pound, the glass vibrating between us.

I started the car. I tried to synchronize shoving it into first gear, pushing on the gas pedal, and releasing the clutch. The engine revved, but the car bucked again and died.

I turned the engine over once more, but was distracted by an off key metallic groan. I watched with horror as the door began to bow. He was tearing—it—off.

I rammed the car into first. My shoes slipped over the pedals. The engine roared, the RPM needle on the dash spiking into the red zone.

His fist came through the window in an explosion of glass. His hand fumbled over my shoulder, clamping around my arm. I gave a hoarse cry, stomped the gas pedal, and released the clutch. The Neon screeched into motion. He hung on, gripping my arm, running beside the car several feet before dropping away.

I sped forward with the force of adrenaline. I checked the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't chasing me, then shoved the mirror to face away. I had to press my lips together to keep from sobbing. I began gasping wildly, and then got some iron pills swallowing them. I ran my hands through my hair, biting my lip hard, until I tasted blood. What the hell just happened?

**Reviews Please!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4:

I drove down Hawthorne, past my house, circled back and headed toward the heart of Coldwater. I speed dialed Nudge, praying for her to pick up.

"Something happened-I-he-it-out of nowhere-the Neon-"

"You're breaking up, what's up?" I wiped away the sweat from my forehead. My whole body trembled uncontrollably. "He came out of nowhere."

"Who? What?" asked Nudge, urgently.

"He-" I tried to talk. But couldn't. But I forced out some words. "He jumped in front of the car!"

"Oh, man. Oh man oh man oh man. You hit a deer? Are you okay? What about Bambi?" She half wailed, half groaned. "The Neon?"

I opened my mouth, but Nudge cut me off. She always does this when she's exasperated.

"Forget it. I've got insurance. Just tell me there aren't deer parts all over my baby… No deer parts, right?"

Whatever answer I was about to give faded into the background. My mind was two steps ahead. A deer.

Maybe I could pass the whole thing off as hitting a deer. I wanted to confide in Nudge, but I didn't want to sound crazy, either. How was I going to explain watching the guy I hit rise to his feet and begin tearing off the car door? I stretched my collar down past my shoulder. No red marks where he'd gripped me that I could see… I should've gotten out of the car, knocked him out and pulled off his mask…

I know for sure he wasn't part of my imagination.

"Max? Max are you there? Are you okay?!" she shrieked. I sniffed.

"I'm fine Nudge," I whispered. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

"nudge?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" she responded.

"Mind if I spend the night at your place?" I muttered.

"Yes! Yeah of course you can! I'll open my window, but if you can't use the front door," she said in a rush. I smiled a little and thanked her. I hung up and closed my eyes breathing in and out deeply. That's new. Nothing's ever happened like that before. Not to me.

I figured I should hurry to Nudge's and sped off. I kept glancing at the rearview mirrors, letting out a sigh of relief when there wasn't a sign of Ski mask guy. When I got to her driveway, I called her to tell her to come out. I knew the door was busted and I had to kick it to open and get out. She wouldn't come out so I went to check on her window to see if she was okay. We bumped into each other and she hugged me.

After she pulled away we went to inspect her car. I froze when I saw the neon. No smashed window and no busted door. The fuck? I closed my eyes, to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, but when I opened them there wasn't anything wrong with the car.

I walked around the back of the car. I'd completed almost a full circle when I came up short.

A fine crack bisected the windshield.

Nudge saw it at the same time. "You sure it wasn't a squirrel?"

I shook my head. My mind flashed back to the lethal eyes behind the ski mask. They were so black I couldn't distinguish the pupils from the irises. Black like…Fang's. Son of a bitch.

"Look at me, I'm crying tears of joy," NUdge said, sprawling herself across the Neon's hood in a hug. "A teeny tiny crack. That's it! Thank god!"

I manufactured a smile, but my stomach soured. Five minutes ago, the window was smashed out and the door was bowed. Looking at the car now, it seemed impossible. No, it seemed crazy. But I saw his fist punch through the glass, and I felt his fingernails bite into my shoulder.

Hadn't I?

The harder I tried to recall the crash, the more I couldn't. Little blips of missing information cut across my memory. The details were fading. Was he tall? Short? Thin? Bulky? Had he said anything?

I couldn't remember. That was the most frightening part. I think I'm going mad.

Nudge and I left her house at seven fifteen the following morning and drove to Enzo's Bistro to grab a breakfast of steamed milk. With my hands wrapped around my china cup, I tried to warm away the deep chill inside me. I'd showered, pulled on a white shirt, brown leather jacket, jeans and my sneakers, but I hardly remembered doing it.

Nudge would glance behind me over my shoulder, but I focused on the night before. She kicked me under the table, and I looked up at her.

"What?" I said. She grinned.

"There's a cute guy in a green sweater, who keeps looking this way…Nevermind he's looking at your long legs through your jeans, estimating them. Aww! He just gave me a two finger military salute," she squealed.

Looking at my legs? I stood up and Nudge gripped my arm, pleading me not to go beat him up. I sighed and figured I should do something for her.

But I didn't care about those guys right now. Last night's accident had replayed itself in my head all night, chasing away any chance of sleep. My thoughts were in tangles, my eyes were dry and heavy, and I couldn't concentrate.

"That hottie looks normal…oh but his wingman…he looks more of a badboy!" she whispered at me, pretending to take sip from her drink. I managed a smile.

"Look at him please," she whined. I did. I took in his fineboned, handsome face. Blond hair hung at his shoulders. Eyes the color of chrome. Unshaven.

Impeccably dressed in a tailored jacket over his green sweater and dark designer jeans. I shook my head.

"You're crazy," I muttered.

"I'm crazy? Right…oh my gosh! Mr. Hottie is getting out of his seat, his body obviously hits the gym, making his way toward us-wait no…he's coming over to you," she said.

"Hello," said a low and pleasant voice. I looked up and saw him. He has shaggy blond hair, Caribbean blue eyes and his thumbs hooked to the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey," said Nudge. "I'm Monique but call me Nudge. My friend here is Maximum Ride." I glanced at her when she said my full name. I nodded and returned to my drink. I stiffened when he dragged a chair from the other table and set it close to me, and sat backward on it.

Holding out a hand to me, he introduced himself, "I'm Dylan Taylors." I only half narrowed my eyes at him. He took the cue and apologized, taking away his hand. Nudge glared at me a second and kicked me under the table.

"And this is Hunter," said Dylan, nodding toward his overly tall friend, if you ask me. Hunter sat next to nudge, slumping in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"How tall are you? I think you're the tallest guy I've ever met," she said, twirling a strand of her hair over one finger.

"Six ten," he muttered.

"Wow," sighed Nudge. Ugh. Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath. Glad to have you here too dude… I studied Dylan. He looks like a guy who goes to high-school, but he's never been to our school. He looked like a nice goody goody guy. Good for Nudge, but apparently she had her eyes set on Hunter.

"Live around here?" Nudge asked.

"…"

"Go to School?"

"Kinghorn prep," he muttered. What's wrong with this guy?

"Huh?"

"Private school. Portland. Class begins at nine," he said.

"You uh…rich?" she asked. Dear lord… Hunter looked at her a second and scrapped his chair back. I snorted and covered my mouth with my hand, to hide my smile. I looked up and saw Dylan, smiling at me. And I put my tough face back on.

"You go to Kinghorn Prep too?" asked Nudge. Dylan shook his head.

"I did. But I'm going Coldwater High, from now," he said. Oh great…

"Really? Max and I go there!" squealed Nudge.

"Nudge we better get going. It's going to be late when we get there," I said, grabbing my messenger bag and pulling her up.

"But there's never any traffic at this hour," she said. Dylan raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe I could go with you guys? Um so I could get a tour?" he asked hopefully. This guy didn't get the hint. Maybe I should give it to him the hard way.

"Look Dylan. In case you haven't noticed, I don't want to be here. I'm not in the mood for this, so my best friend and I, we're leaving," I said and left the place. Nudge trailing behind me.

"Okay what's wrong with you? Dylan was being sweet," she said.

"I don't care. Every guy is the same Nudge and they all want one thing. They'll do anything to take it from you" I said. She frowned.

"Max, you have a problem. You don't know how to trust guys," she said softly.

"Exactly. Try getting me to trust one," I said.

"Is this about Fang and the library thing and you think he really is stalking you? Look I was joking and you didn't have to-" I cut her off. I stiffened at his name and his black eyes popped into mind. I shook it off.

"Fang is the least of my worries," I mumbled. I lied. Well…maybe he was…

"And you're not eating either," she sighed. She opened a bag of potato chips and offered me some. I wasn't hungry.

"I'm not hungry Nudge," I said.

"Max you're always hungry. But I don't control what you do," she sighed. We stayed silent the rest of the way to school.

Nudge sat beside me in class. That is until you know who popped up.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat and motioned to his seat. Nudge looked up at him and slowly rose. Fang he swept his arm over the aisle, indicating her out of his way.

"You look good, like always," Fang winked at me when he said it. I rolled my eyes and ignored my stupid heart. He took the chair beside me, and stretched his legs.

"Thanks," I mumbled. Really? Thanks? Of every insult I wanted to say, I came up with "Thank you?" I didn't like his compliments…not most of them anyway. It didn't take much perception to realize he was trouble, and I had enough trouble in my life already. No need to invite more. Maybe if I ignored him, he'd eventually give up initiating conversation. And then we could sit side by side in silent harmony, like every other partnership in the room.

"You smell amazing too," he said.

"Um there's this thing call a shower? Where you use shampoo, soap and hot water," I said.

"And you're naked. I know," he said. I was about to insult him and hit him when Coach strode in, blowing his whistle.

"Pop quiz, team! Getting you ready for Friday. Absolute silence for the next fifteen minutes. After, we'll discuss chapter seven," he said, handing out the quizzes.

I answered the first few questions, but lost concentration. I began pushing last night's accident and the voice at the back of my mind questioning my sanity to the sidelines. I gasped slightly when those black eyes swan through my mind again. Then Fang leaned toward me, his black eyes locking toward mine.

"Are you okay? Rough night?" he whispered.

"I saw you at the library," I muttered.

"The highlight of my night," he responded with a smile.

"D-did you follow me?" I stuttered. I never stutter but in situations like this…Fang just tipped his head back and laughed softly.

"What were you doing there?" I snapped.

"Um, getting a book?" he said, his eyes laughed at me. Coach was staring at me and I immediately returned to the quiz. Ia snwered a few questions, and when I looked at Fang he was smiling at me.

My heart did an unexpected flip, startled by his bizarrely attractive smile. To my horror, I was so taken aback, I dropped my pencil. It bounced on the tabletop a few times before rolling over the edge. Fang bent to pick it up. He held it out in the palm of his hand, and I had to focus not to touch his skin as I took it back.

"Where'd you go after the library?" I said, closing my eyes.

"Why?" he said softly.

"Just answer the damn question," I ground out.

"Ride," warned Coach. I continued working, my hand trembling a little when I felt Fang's gaze on me. He's different in…a scary way. I'm not afraid of boys…but he's different.

I couldn't help but think what Fang's answer might have been, and it had me wanting to slide far away from him. Across the room. Across the universe.

Coach chirped his whistle. "Time's up. Pass your quizzes forward. Be expecting similar questions this Friday. Now"—he sanded his hands together—"for today's lesson. Miss Monique, want to take a stab at our topic?" Nudge hates it when people use her real name.

"S e x," Nudge announced.

Precisely after she did, I tuned out. Was Fang following me? Was he the face behind the ski mask—if there even was a face behind a mask? What did he want? I hugged my elbows, suddenly feeling very cold. I wanted my life to go back to the way it was before Fang barged into my life. I shut my eyes and swallowed two more iron pills. I've never taken as many pills as I have these past few days.

"We need to talk," I told Fang, after class.

"Sure," he said, taking a seat on the edge of the table.

"Let's get one thing straight okay? I know you don't want to sit next to me any more than I want to sit next to you," I hissed. "Do me a favor and explain the situation to-"

"The situation?"

"We're not-compatible," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

Fang rubbed a hand over his jaw, "We're not?"

"I'm not giving you shocking news, you know?" crossing my arms over my chest.

"You do know, that when Coach asked for my list of desired characteristics in a mate, I gave him you."

Anger sparked in me. "Take it back."

"Intelligent. Attractive. Strong. You disagree?"

He's teasing me. On purpose. I swung at his jaw but he caught my fist, pulling me closer to him. I pulled away and stepped back. Slapping him again.

"Are you going to ask Coach to switch our seats, or not?" I asked, frustrated.

"I don't think so. You've grown on me," he grinned at the last part. _Jackass_, I thought harshly.

What was I supposed to say to that? He was obviously aiming to get a reaction out of me. Which wasn't difficult, seeing as how I could never tell when he was joking, and when he was sincere.

I tried to inject a measure of self -composure into my voice. "I think you'd be much better seated with someone else. And I think you know it." I smiled, fake.

"I think I could end up next to Nudge." His smile appeared just as polite. "I'm not going to press my luck."

"Um am I interrupting something?" asked Nudge, after standing beside me.

"No," I said, grabbing my messenger bag. "I just wanted to know what tonight's assignment was, and Fang was here so I decided to ask him," I said, punching Fang's side, playfully but forcefully. Fang nodded grabbing his side.

"The assignment's on the board," confusion showing in her eyes. She looked into Fang's eyes, and after a few seconds she looked at me and shrugged. Wha? I looked over at Fang.

"Anything else, Max?" he said.

"No," I said. "See you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." He winked. Actually winked.

After Fang was out of earshot, Nudge gripped my arm. "Good news. Walker. That's his last name. I saw it on Coach's class roster."

"And I care because…?" I raised me eyebrows.

"Everybody knows students are required to register prescription drugs with the nurse's office." She tugged at the front pocket of my backpack, where I kept my iron pills. "Likewise, everybody knows the nurse's office is conveniently located inside the front office, where, as it happens, student files are also kept," she winked. Why is everyone winking at me today?

"Ahhh!" I said, smiling and nodding. She giggled and nodded.

"Let's go do some real sleuthing," I said, grabbing her arm and walking away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5:**

"How can I be of service to you?" asked the office secretary. I managed a fake, but convincing smile. Nudge says I'm good at these.

"I have a prescription I take daily at school, and my friend informed me that I'm supposed to register it with the nurse. Do you know if that's correct?" Hopefully, I won't get caught for the second time. Last time, the principle called mom and I got detention for a day. Four boring hours. But I did it so I wouldn't risk Nudge getting into trouble, and I wanted to see the files myself.

"Oh, yes," the secretary said solemnly. "All drugs need to be registered. Nurse's office is back through there, third door on the left, across from student records." She gestured into the hallway behind her. "If the nurse isn't there, you can take a seat on the cot inside her office. She should be back any minute." This is going to be easy.

I headed down the hall but stopped several times to check over my shoulder. No one. The front office phone rang, but it sounded a world apart from the dim corridor in which I stood.

I came to a stop at the third door on the left. I sucked in a breath and knocked, but it was obvious from the darkened window that the room was empty. I pushed on the door. It moved with reluctance, creaking open on a compact room with scuffed white tiles. I stood in the entrance a moment. A quick glance across the hall revealed a door with a window marked STUDENT RECORDS. It too was dark.

I focused my attention on a nagging thought at the back of my mind. Fang claimed that he hadn't gone to school last year. I was pretty sure he was lying, but if he wasn't, would he even have a student record?

He'd have a home address at the very least, I reasoned. And an immunization card, and last semester's grades. Still. Possible suspension seemed like a large price to pay for a peek at Fang's immunization card.

I leaned one shoulder against the wall and checked my watch. Nudge had told me to wait for her signal.

She said it would be obvious.

Great.

The phone in the front office rang again, and the secretary picked up.

Chewing my lip, I stole a second glimpse at the door labeled STUDENT RECORDS. There was a good chance it was locked. Student files were probably considered high security. It didn't matter what kind of diversion Nudge created; if the door was locked, I wasn't getting in.

I leaned my back against the wall. A minute ticked down. I needed to get in and Nudge needs to hurry. What if Nudge was right? Fang was stalking me?

If the door was unlocked and the files were alphabetized, I would have no trouble locating Fang's quickly. Add another few seconds to skim his file for red flags, and I could probably be in and out of the room in under a minute. Which was so brief it might not feel like I'd entered at all.

Things had grown unusually quiet out in the front office. Suddenly NUdge rounded the corner. She edged down the wall toward me, walking in a crouch, dragging her hands along the wall, stealing surreptitious glances over her shoulder. It was the kind of walk spies adopted in old movies. She was taking the spy thing seriously.

"Everything is under control," she whispered. I smiled at her and nodded.

"Ten-four…what happened to the secretary?" I whispered.

"She had to leave the office for a minute."

"Had to?"

"I called in a bomb threat from the pay phone outside," Nudge said. "The secretary dialed the police, then ran off to find the principal."

I laughed a bit loudly but shut up. I gave her thumbs up and air high-fived.

She tapped her wrist. "Clock's ticking. We don't want to be in here when the cops arrive."

I nodded. I agreed and beckoned her over.

Nudge and I sized up the door to student records.

"Move over," I said, giving her my hip.

I drew my sleeve down over my fist and drilled it into the window. Nothing happened.

"That was just for practice," I said. I drew back for another punch and she grabbed her arm.

"It might be unlocked." She turned the knob and the door swung open.

"That wasn't near as much fun," I said.

"You go in," Nudge instructed. "I'm going to keep surveillance. If all goes well, we'll rendezvous in an hour. Meet me at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech." She crouch walked back down the hall. I nodded. I went inside and silently closed the door behind me.

I hurried forward, dragging my finger along the faces of the cabinets. I found the drawer marked car–cuv. With one tug the drawer rattled open. The tabs on the files were labeled by hand, and I wondered if Coldwater High was the last school in the country not computerized.

My eyes brushed over the name "Walker."

I wrenched the file from the crammed drawer. I held it in my hands a moment, trying to convince myself there was nothing too wrong with what I was about to do. So what if there was private information inside? As Fang's biology partner, I had a right to know these things. Not illegal. Fang could answer the illegal question right now. I smiled.

Outside, voices filled the hall.

I fumbled the file open and immediately flinched. It didn't make any sense.

The voices advanced.

I shoved the file randomly inside the drawer and gave it a push, sending it rattling back into the cabinet.

As I turned, I froze. On the other side of the window, the principal stopped midstride, his gaze latching onto me.

Whatever he'd been saying to the group, which probably consisted of every major player on the school's faculty, trailed off. "Excuse me a moment," I heard him say. The group continued hustling forward. He did not.

He opened the door. "This area is off -limits to students, Maximum. What'd I tell you if I caught you here again?"

I tried on a helpless face. "I'm so sorry. I'm trying to find the nurse's office. The secretary said third door on the right, but I think I miscounted... " I threw my hands up. "I'm lost."

Before he could respond, I tugged at the zipper on my backpack. "I'm supposed to register these. Iron pills," I explained. "I'm anemic."

He studied me for a moment, his brow creasing. I thought I could see him weighing his options: stick around and deal with me, or deal with a bomb threat. He jerked his chin out the door. "I need you to exit the building immediately." I did as was told. I let out a sigh of relief of not getting in trouble.

An hour later, I slid into the corner booth at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech. The Borderline. Nudge suddenly flopped on the seat opposite of mine, the waiter standing by our table.

"A sprite, please," Nudge and I said at the same time. We laughed and so did the waiter. He left with a smile and nod.

"Be right back," she said, sliding out of the booth. "That time of the month. After that, I want to get the scoop." I nodded and smiled at her.

While waiting for her, I found myself concentrating on the busboy some tables away. He was hard at work scrubbing a rag over the top of a table. There was something strangely familiar about the way he moved, about the way his shirt fell over the arch of his well- defined back. Almost as if he suspected he was being watched, he straightened and turned, his eyes fixing on mine at the exact same moment I figured out what was so familiar about this particular busboy.

Fang.

I couldn't believe it. I thought about slapping my forehead when I remembered he'd told me he worked at the Borderline.

"_Dios mio, porque_?" I said to the ceiling. **(A/n: It means "why god?")**Yeah I speak Spanish. My mom is Hispanic and has taught me. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.

Wiping his hands on his apron, he walked over, apparently enjoying my discomfort as I looked around for some way to escape, finding I had nowhere to go but deeper into the booth.

"Well, well," he said. "Five days a week isn't enough of me? Had to give me an evening, too?"

"I apologize for the unfortunate coincidence," I snapped, remembering earlier's conversation. I hate you, I thought. As if he read my thoughts he smiled.

He slid into Nudge's seat. When he laid his arms down, they were so long, they crossed into my half of the table. He reached for my water glass, twirling it in his hands.

"Seats are taken," I said. He didn't respond.

"Shouldn't you be working instead of fraternizing with customers?" I choked.

He smiled. "What are you doing Sunday night?"

"Ha ha. Get out of here," I said.

I snorted and responded, when he didn't budge. "You're asking me out?"

"You're getting cocky. I like that, love."

"I don't care what you like. I'm not going out with you. Not on a date. Not alone. I don't date guys. Especially idiots like you." I wanted to kick myself for experiencing a hot thrill upon speculating what a night alone with Fang might entail. Most likely, he hadn't even meant it. Most likely, he was baiting me for reasons known only to him. "Hang on, did you just call me 'Love'?" I asked.

He grinned. "It stays. Love."

He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone. I pulled away, too late.

"What the hell it wrong with you?" I hissed. He just shrugged. I rolled my eyes and slumped my shoulders.

"Like hell I'd go out with you," I scoffed.

"Too bad. There's a party on the coast. I thought we could go." He actually sounded sincere.

I could not figure him out. At all. The earlier hot thrill still lingered in my blood, and I pulled out a long loose string on my jacket, trying to cool my feelings. Time alone with Fang would be intriguing, and dangerous. I wasn't sure how exactly, but I was trusting my instincts on this one.

"If this party is something you'd be interested in, I can almost guarantee I won't be."

There, I thought. Case closed.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, I said, "Why are you asking me anyway?"

Up until this very moment, I'd been telling myself I didn't care what Fang thought of me. But right now, I knew it was a lie. Even though it would probably come back to haunt me, I was curious enough about Fang to go almost anywhere with him.

"I want to get you alone," Fang said. Just like that, my defenses shot back up.

"Listen, Fang, I don't want to be rude, but—"

"Sure you do."

"Well, you started it!" Lovely. Very mature. "I can't go to the party. End of story."

"Because you can't go out on a school night, or because you're scared of being alone with me?"

"Both." The confession just slipped out. Like I said, he makes me feel different.

"Are you scared of all guys…or just me?"

"I don't have to answer that," I shot back.

"I make you uneasy?" His mouth held a neutral line, but I detected a speculative smile trapped behind it.

Yes, actually, he had that effect on me. He also had the tendency to wipe all logical thought from my mind.

"I'm sorry," I said. "What were we talking about?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Your personal life."

I laughed, unsure what other response to give. "If this is about me…and the opposite sex…Nudge already gave me this speech. I don't need to hear it twice."

"And what did wise old Nudge say?"

I was playing with my hands, and slid them out of sight. "I can't imagine why you're so interested." I mumbled the last part.

He softly shook his head. "Interested? We're talking about you. I'm fascinated. You're…different" He smiled, and it was a fantastic smile. The effect was a ratcheted pulse— my ratcheted pulse. I looked up and met his eyes. I smiled at him and looked down, my hair making a curtain for both of us.

"I think you should get back to work," I said.

"For what it's worth, I like the idea that there's not a guy at school who matches up to your expectations."

"I forgot you're the authority on my so called expectations," I scoffed.

He studied me in a way that had me feeling transparent. "You're not cagey, Max. Not shy, at all, either. You just need a very good reason to go out of your way to get to know someone."

"I don't want to talk about me anymore."

"You think you've got everyone all figured out."

"Not true," I said. "For example, well, for instance, I don't know much about…you." I bit my lips when I said that. It just came out.

"You're just not…ready to know me," he muttered. I scowled at him. I blinked and almost regretted what I would say next.

"I looked in your student file."

My words hung in the air a moment before Fang's eyes aligned with mine. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal," he said calmly.

"I don't give a crap. Your file was empty. Nothing. Not even an immunization record." Amusement shone in his eyes. He didn't look surprised. He just leaned back in his seat.

"And you're telling me this…?" he raised his eyebrows.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I know something about you isn't right. You haven't fooled everybody. I'm going to find out what you're up to. I'm going to expose you," I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Really? Well I'm looking forward to that," he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nudge making her way toward us.

"Leave. Nudge's coming."

Fang just studied me. No emotion showing in his obsidian eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I challenged.

He tipped forward, preparing to stand. "Because you're nothing like what I expected."

"Neither are you," I shot back. It's true. I thought he'd just be another boy to add to my Kick that person's ass list. But no, I was wrong. "You're more of an idiot and more retarded than I thought."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6:**

I was shocked to see Dylan come to first hour P.E. as soon as the tardy bell rang. He was dressed in knee- length basketball shorts and a white Nike sweatshirt. His high -tops looked new and expensive. After handing a slip of paper to Miss Cox, he caught my eye. He gave a low wave and joined me in the bleachers. Ugh…

"Finally! I get to see you again!" he said cheerfully.

"I never heard why you transferred here," I said.

"I lost my scholarship and my parents couldn't afford the tuition." Sucks to be him.

Miss Susan blew her whistle.

"The whistle means something, right?," Dylan said to me. I nodded.

"Ten laps around the gym, no cutting corners." I pushed up from the bleachers. "Are you an athlete?"

Dylan jumped up, dancing on the balls of his feet. He threw a few hooks and jabs into the air. He finished with an uppercut that stopped just short of my chin. Grinning, he said, "An athlete? To the core."

I smiled at him. Maybe we could be buddies…

"Then you're going to love this class."

Dylan and I jogged the ten laps together ahead of everyone else, then headed outdoors, where the air was laced with a ghostly fog. It seemed to clog my lungs, choking me. The sky leaked a few raindrops, trying hard to push a storm down on the city of Coldwater. I eyed the building doors but knew it was to no avail; Miss Susan was hard core. She's my favorite teacher.

"I need two captains for softball," she hollered. "Come on, look alive. Let's see some hands in the air! Better volunteer, or I'll pick teams, and I don't always play fair."

Dylan raised his hand.

"All right," Miss Susan said to him. "Up here, by home plate. And how about…Lissa as captain of the red team." Everyone laughed and I coughed out the word "Loser."

Lissa's eyes swept over Dylan. "Bring it on."

"Dylan pick your first teammate." His eyes studied the class.

"Max," he said. I slapped him high-five, silently thanking him. Everyone says I'm the best sports player ever. Lissa rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"What's so funny?" asked Dylan.

"Um…we all know Max is the worst softball player. See, there's a reason why I'm a cheerleader and-" I cut her off.

"Um, maybe because I'm not a slut?" I asked. Everyone laughed and Mrs. Susan cracked a smile. Lissa's face reddened and she huffed.

"Yeah, and Max is the best athlete the whole school has!" shouted someone from the back. Everyone agreed and I smiled at them in gratitude. Lissa just said "whatever" to us and we continued to choose teams. Dylan's team tugged a blue jersey over their heads.

"Blue team bats first!" hollered Mrs. Susan.

"Max you go first," said Dylan, handing me a bat. I nodded as a thanks and stood at home plate. I rested the bat on my right shoulder.

"Hold on! Losers run two more laps! There, that's fair," said Ms. Susan, nodding at us. Most girls and some boys groaned in response. Lissa pitched the ball at me, which was a fail. It flew to outside the cage.

"You call that a pitch?" I teased her. Everyone on our teams laughed. She continued to do the same thing for three more times, until some kid stepped up and finally threw an amazing pitch. I hit the ball and it flew over the fence. I just jogged the whole way. I jumped to home-base and high-fived my teammates.

Just then, something in the parking lot beyond the dugout drew my attention. I thought I'd heard my name called. I turned, but even as I did, I knew my name hadn't been said out loud. It had been spoken quietly to my mind.

Max.

Fang wore a faded blue baseball cap and had his fingers hooked in the chain -link fence, leaning against it. No coat, despite the weather. Just head to toe black. His eyes were opaque and inaccessible as he watched me, but I suspected there was a lot going on behind them.

Another string of words crept into my mind.

Nice hit. Like I said...strong.

I flinched. I stood behind the fence, waiting for everyone on my team to bat. I'm imagining things, I told myself. Because the alternative was considering that Fang held the power to channel thoughts into my mind. Which couldn't be. It just couldn't. Unless I was delusional. That scared me more than the idea that he'd breached normal communication methods and could, at will, speak to me without ever opening his mouth.

I kept my eyes on Dylan, who was up next. I closed my eyes and gathered enough courage to look at Fang. He wasn't there anymore. What the hell? Dylan got out and stood beside me.

"I thought you said you were an athlete?" I smirked.

"Softball's not my thing," he said, shrugging.

"Was that your boyfriend standing by the fence?" Dylan asked. I laughed and shook my head

I was surprised that Dylan had noticed Fang. He'd had his back to him. "No," I said. "Just a friend. Actually, not even that. He's my bio partner. An acquaintance."

"Then why are you blushing?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"Um I just ran ten laps? And it's probably windburn," I lied. Keeping the answer to myself. Patch's voice still echoed in my head. My heart pumped faster, but if anything, my blood ran colder.

Had he talked directly to my thoughts? Was there some inexplicable link between us that allowed it to happen? Or was I losing my mind?

Dylan didn't look fully convinced. "You sure nothing's going on between the two of you? I don't want to chase after an unavailable girl."

"Nothing." Nothing I was going to allow, anyway.

Wait. What did he just say?

"What?" I said.

He smiled. "Delphic Seaport reopens Saturday night, and Hunter and I are thinking about driving out. Weather's not supposed to be too bad. Maybe you and Nudge want to come?"

I took a moment to think over his offer. I was pretty sure that if I turned Dylan down, Nudge would kill me. Besides…what's the worst thing that could happen? It's just a date, right? And if anything bad happens I could defend myself and Nudge…even though she knows how to fight, but won't admit it.

Besides, going out with Elliot seemed like a good way to escape my uncomfortable attraction to Fang.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7:**

Anne and I are in the kitchen, it's Saturday night and she just put something delicious inside the oven. I was just helping her clean; since everyone knows I can't cook at all. Burning water is talent, right?

"Your mom called and she said she won't be here until Sunday night. She also wants you to call her. Have you been calling her every night before you go to sleep?" she placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head at me.

I just nodded and placed some dishes on the cabinets. I put on my innocent face and shook my head. Even though I knew it was from the school psychologist, since I've not been going to the last two sessions. See, twelve months ago I'd opened the front door to find the police on the doorstep. We have some bad news, they said. My dad's funeral was a week later. Every Monday afternoon since then, I'd shown up at my scheduled time slot with Dr. Henry, school psychologist.

"Busy tonight?"

"Maybe…" I said.

"Any boys?" she asked.

"Trust me, Anne, there are no boys in my life." Okay, maybe there were two lurking on the fringe, circling from afar, but since I didn't know either very well, and one outright frightened me, it felt safer to close my eyes and pretend they weren't there.

"This is a good thing, and a bad thing," Anne said scold ingly. She doesn't really know about my hate for guys… "You find the wrong boy, you ask for trouble. You find the right boy, you find love." Her voice softened reminiscently. "When I was a little girl, I had to choose between two boys. One was a very wicked boy. The other was my Gerald. We are happily married for forty -one years."

Jesus, that sounds like someone I know…

I was preoccupied debating whether or not I really wanted to meet Dylan tonight. At first, meeting up had seemed like a great idea. But the more I thought about it, the more doubt crept in. I'd only known Dylan a couple of days, for one. And I wasn't sure how my mom would feel about the arrangement, for another. It was getting late, and Delphic was at least a half- hour drive. More to the point, on weekends Delphic had a reputation for being wild.

The phone rang, and Nudge's number showed on the caller ID.

"Are we doing anything tonight?" she wanted to know.

I opened my mouth, weighing my answer carefully. Once I told Nudge about Dylan's offer, there was no turning back.

"Can we go out? I'm booooooooooooooooooooooooo-" she kept saying. Time to come clean, and she might kill me…

"How about Delphic Seaport? Dylan and Hunter are going. They want to meet up," I cut her off.

"Oh my gosh! You actually want to go on a date? Finally! But…You buried the lead! Vital information here, Max. I'll pick you up in fifteen." I was left listening to the dial tone. I sighed and went to go change into a black and white striped sweater that hugged my torso, black jeans and black combat boots.

I redid the ringlets on my hair with my fingers, and put on some of my mom's soft pink lip gloss and that black stuff you put on your eyelashes. I went out and found Nudge two minutes early.

"I'm going to Delphic Seaport with Nudge," I called to Anne. "If my mom calls, would you mind relaying the message?"

She waddled out of the powder room. "All the way to Delphic? This late?"

"Have fun at your conference!" I said, escaping out the door before she could protest or get my mom on the phone. I sighed in relief when she just waved back. Nudge giggled at me and told me she was excited for my first date. To keep her from talking, I cranked up the volume on Rihanna's "Disturbia." I sang along.

"You should join a band or something you have an amazing voice," complemented Nudge. I smiled at her. Mom and Anne agree.

"Thanks…maybe I will," I said.

A half hour later Nudge drove under the gates to Delphic Seaport. We were forced to park at the farthest end of the lot, due to heavy opening weekend traffic. Nestled right on the coast, Delphic is not known for its mild weather. A low wind had picked up, sweeping popcorn bags and candy wrappers around our ankles as Nudge and I walked toward the ticket counter. The trees had long since lost their leaves, and the branches loomed over us like disjointed fingers. Delphic Seaport boomed all summer long with an amusement park, masquerades, fortune telling booths, gypsy musicians, and a freak show. I could never be sure if the human deformities were real or an illusion.

"One adult, please," I told the woman at the ticket counter. She took my money and slid a wristband under the window. Then she smiled, exposing white plastic vampire teeth, smudged red with lipstick.

"Have a good time," she said in a breathless voice. "And don't forget to try our newly remodeled ride."

She tapped her side of the glass, pointing to a stack of park maps and a flier.

I grabbed one of each on my way through the revolving gates. The flier read:

**DELPHIC AMUSEMENT PARK'S**

**NEWEST SENSATION!**

**THE ARCHANGEL**

**REMODELED AND RENOVATED!**

**FALL FROM GRACE ON THIS**

**ONE HUNDRED FOOT VERTICAL DROP.**

Nudge read the flier over my shoulder. Her nails threatened to puncture the skin on my arm. "We have to do it!" she squealed.

"Yes! Let's go!" I agreed.

"Oh but later…we got some hotties to go meet," she said. Damn it…Now I regret coming here…but hey, it's for Nudge. We went to go ride a few rides and Nudge decided we should go meet up with the guys. We both walked into the arcade and I saw him.

Fang.

He glanced up from his video game. The same baseball cap he'd worn when I saw him during PE

shielded most of his face, but I was certain I saw a flicker of a smile. At first glance it appeared friendly, but then I remembered how he'd entered my thoughts, and I went cold to the bone. I scowled at him.

If I was lucky, Nudge hadn't seen him. I edged her forward through the crowd, letting Fang fall out of sight. The last thing I needed was for her to suggest we go over and strike up a conversation.

"Oh there they are!" said Nudge.

"Guys! Over here!" I said. Dylan and Hunter walked toward us, Hunter looking…not excited.

"Good evening, ladies," Dylan said, standing in front of us. "Can I buy you both a Coke?"

"Sounds good," said Vee. She was looking right at Jules. "I'll take a Diet."

Hunter muttered an excuse about needing to use the restroom and slipped back into the crowd.

Five minutes later Dylan returned with Cokes. After splitting them between us, he rubbed his hands together and surveyed the floor. "Where should we start?"

"Where's Hunter?" frowned Nudge.

"Oh, uh, he'll find us," smiled Dylan. Hmm…

"Okay…let's play…air hockey," I said, indicating towards the opposite side of the arcade. Far away from Fang.

"How about foosball?" squealed Nudge, making her way toward the table. Oh jeez…

"Hunter and me against the two of you. Losers buy pizza."

"Fair enough," said Dylan.

Foosball would have been fine, had the table not been a short distance from where Fang stood playing his game. I told myself to ignore him. If I kept my back to him, I'd hardly notice he was there. Maybe Nudge wouldn't notice him either.

"Hey, Max, isn't that Fang?" Nudge said.

"Hmm?" I said innocently.

She pointed. "Over there. That's him, isn't it?"

"I doubt it. Are Dylan and I the white team, then?"

"Fang is Max's bio partner," Nudge explained to Dylan. She winked slyly at me but made a face of innocence the moment Dylan gave her his attention. I shook my head subtly but firmly at her, transmitting a silent message— stop.

"He keeps looking this way," NUdge said in a lowered voice. She leaned across the foosball table, attempting to make her conversation with me appear private, but she whispered loud enough that Dylan had no choice but to overhear. "He's bound to wonder what you're doing here with—" She bobbed her head at Dylan.

I shut my eyes and envisioned banging my head against the wall.

"Fang has made it very clear he'd like to be more than biology partners with Max," Nudge continued, examining a nail.

"Not that anyone can blame him."

"That so?" said Dylan, eyeing me with a look that said he wasn't surprised. He'd suspected it all along. I noticed he took a step closer. I put on my tough face.

Nudge shot me a triumphant smile.

"It's not like that," I corrected. "It's—"

"Twice as bad," Nudge said. "Max suspects he's stalking her. The police are on the brink of becoming involved."

"Should we play?" I said loudly. I dropped the foosball in the center of the table. Nobody noticed.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Dylan asked me. "I'll explain we're not looking for trouble. I'll tell him you're here with me, and if he's got a problem, he can discuss it with me."

Uh no thank you. I can take care of myself, I wanted to say, but I tried to change the topic.

"Hey where's Hunter?"

"Let me talk to Fang," said Dylan calmly. Right, okay buddy! Fang will beat the shit out this guy.

"He doesn't scare me," Dylan said, as if to disprove my thoughts.

Obviously this was something Dylan and I disagreed on.

"Bad idea," I said.

"Great idea," Nudge said. "Otherwise, Fang might get…violent. Remember last time?"

I raised my eyebrows in question.

I had no idea why Nudge was doing this, other than that she had a penchant for making everything as dramatic as possible.

"No offense, but this guy sounds like a creep," said Dylan. "Give me two minutes with him." He started to walk over.

"No!" I said, yanking on his sleeve to stop him. "He, uh, might get violent again. Let me handle this." I narrowed a look at NUdge.

"You sure?" Dylan said. "I'm more than happy to do it."

"I think it's best coming from me," I snarled, pushing up the sleeves on my arms. I walked over to the bozo. I will kill him. I started closing the distance between me and Fang, which was only the width of a few game consoles. I had no idea what I was going to say when I reached him. I'm gonna wing it.

Fang was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans, and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn't have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior. Not even I have that, and I get into fights all the time. Not that I wanted a look under his clothes.

When I got to Fang's console, I tapped a hand against the side of it to get his attention. In the calmest voice I could manage, I said, "Pac Man? Or is it Donkey Kong?" In truth, it looked a little more violent and military.

A slow grin spread over his face. "Baseball. Think maybe you could stand behind me and give me a few pointers?"

Firebombs erupted on the screen, and screaming bodies sailed through the air. Obviously not baseball.

"What's his name?" Fang asked, directing an almost imperceptible nod at the foosball table.

"Um it's none of your business," I said.

"And I have to keep this short. They're waiting."

"Have I seen him before?"

"He's new. Just transferred," I crossed my arms over my chest.

"First week at school and he's already made friends. Lucky guy." He slid me a look. "Could have a dark and dangerous side we know nothing about."

"Seems to be my specialty," I sighed.

I waited for him to catch my meaning, but he only said, "Up for a game?" He tilted his head toward the back of the arcade. Through the crowd I could just make out pool tables.

"Yo Max!" NUdge called out. "Get over here!"

"Can't," I told Fang.

"If I win," he said, as if he had no intention of being refused, "you'll tell that guy something came up. You'll tell him you're no longer free tonight."

I couldn't help it; he was way too arrogant. I said, "And if I win?"

His eyes skimmed me, head to toe. "I don't think we have to worry." I punched his stomach, making him laugh and I cracked a smile.

"They might think we're flirting," he whispered. I laughed slightly. Wait where did that come from? I felt like kicking myself, because that's exactly what we were doing. But it wasn't my fault—it was Patch's. In close contact with him, I experienced a confusing polarity of desires…A reckless part was tempted to see how close I could get without…combusting.

"One game of pool," he tempted.

"I'm here with someone else."

"Head toward the pool tables. I'll take care of it."

I crossed my arms, hoping to look stern and a little exasperated, but at the same time, I had to bite my lip to keep from showing a slightly more positive reaction. "What are you going to do? Fight him?"

"If it comes to that." Seriously?

I was almost sure he was joking. Almost.

"A pool table just opened up. Go claim it." I…dare…you. Again, his voice on my mind. Inside, I panicked.

I stiffened. "How did you do that?"

When he didn't immediately deny it, I felt a squeeze of panic. It was real. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"How did you do that?" I repeated.

He gave me a sly smile. "Do what?"

"Don't," I warned. "Don't pretend you're not doing it."

He leaned a shoulder against the console and gazed down at me. "Tell me what I'm supposed to be doing."

"My…thoughts."

"What about them?"

"Cut it out, Fang."

"You don't mean—talking to your mind? You know how crazy that sounds, right?"

"I'm not sure you're good for me," I said, closing my eyes.

"I could change your mind," he murmured. I shook my head and swallowed.

"Meet me at the Archangel," Fang said.

I took a step back. "No," I hissed.

I was about to beat him up, when Fang came around behind me, and a chill shimmied up my spine.

"I'll be waiting," he said into my ear.

Then he slipped out of the arcade. I groaned and shook out of my stupor. I'm gonna kill that idiot…

**Reviews are appreciated!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8:**

I stomped back to where Nudge and Dylan waited for me. Nudge jumped in my face asking what happened.

"I asked him to leave…and punched him, then he left" I said, shrugging.

"He didn't look mad when he left," Dylan frowned. "Whatever you said, it must have worked."

"Too bad," Nudge said. "I was hoping for some excitement."

"Are we ready to play?" Dylan asked. "I'm getting hungry for some hard won pizza."

"Yeah, if Hunter would ever come back," said NUdge. "I'm starting to think maybe he doesn't like us. He keeps disappearing."

"You kidding me? He loves you guys," Dylan said with too much enthusiasm. "He's just slow to warm up to strangers. I'll go find him. Don't go anywhere."

As soon as Nudge and I were alone, I said, "You know I'm going to kill you, right?"

Nudge raised her palms and took a step back. "I was doing you a favor. Dylan is wild about you. After you left, I told him you have, like, ten guys calling you every night. You should have seen his face."

I laughed.

I looked to the arcade doors. "I need something."

"You need Dylan."

"No, I need sugar. Lots of it." What I need, is Fang out of my life.

"I could use a little sugar myself," Nudge said. "I saw a vendor near the park entrance on our way in. I'll stay here so Hunter and Dylan don't think we ran off, and you can get some cotton candy."

After I left the arcade, I went straight to the Archangel. Looks like an awesome ride. The Archangel rose up above the treetops. A snake of cars zipped over the lighted tracks and dove out of view. Why did Fang want to meet? I knew I should go back, but my legs carried me toward the Archangel. I stole a look to both sides. Nothing abnormal in my peripheral vision. I spun a full 180 degrees. A little ways back, standing in a small courtyard of trees, a hooded figure turned and disappeared into the darkness.

My heart began to beat faster. I speed walked back, putting some distance between the clearing. I looked over my shoulder. Nothing. I imagined it, I thought. I kept looking back, when I smacked into someone.

"Sorry," I said. Fang smiled at me, making my heart beat faster.

"I'm hard to resist," he smirked. Ugh… I rolled my eyes.

"Leave me the hell alone," I snapped and tried to sidestep him, but he caught my elbow.

"What's wrong? You look like you're going to puke," he said.

"That's the effect you have on me," I snarled. He chuckled and I resisted the urge to knock his lights out.

"You should drink something," he said, indicating at a soda cart.

"If you want to help, you should leave me the fuck alone."

Fang tucked a stray of hair behind my ear, making me shiver. Damn it! I hate it when my body loses control.

"Love the hair. Love when it's out of control. I like this side of you."

I smoothed my hair. "I have to go. Nudge and Dylan are waiting. I'll see you at school on Monday."

"That's his name?…Okay…Ride the Archangel with me."

"Hell no," I said. .

"If you keep running from me, you're never going to figure out what's really going on."

That comment right there should have sent me running. But it didn't. It was almost as if Fang knew exactly what to say to pique my curiosity. Exactly what to say, at exactly the right moment.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"Only one way to find out."

"I can't. I'm afraid of heights. Besides, Nudge's waiting." Only, suddenly the thought of going up that high in the air didn't scare me. Not anymore. In an absurd way, knowing I'd be with Fang made me feel safe.

"If you ride the whole way through without screaming, I'll tell Coach to switch our seats."

"I already tried. He won't budge."

"I could be more convincing than you."

"I don't scream," I said. "Not for carnival rides." Especially not for you. I followed Fang to the back of the line for the Archangel.

"I haven't seen you at Delphic before," he cocked an eyebrow.

"You're here a lot?" I made a mental note not to take any more weekend trips to Delphic.

"I have a history with the place."

We edged up the line as the cars emptied and a new set of thrill seekers boarded the ride.

"Let me guess," I said. "You played hooky here instead of going to school last year."

I was being sarcastic, but Fang said, "Answering that would mean shedding light on my past. And I'd like to keep it in the dark."

"Why? What's wrong with your past?"

"I don't think now is a good time to talk about it. My past might frighten you."

I snorted. Yeah right. Too late, I thought.

He stepped closer and our arms met, a brushed connection that caused the hairs on my arm to rise.

"The things I have to confess aren't the kind of things you tell your flippant bio partner," he said. Whatever…

The frigid wind wrapped around me, and when I breathed in, it filled me with ice.

Fang jerked his chin up the ramp. "Looks like we're up."

I pushed through the revolving gate. By the time we made it to the boarding platform, the only empty cars were at the very front and the very back of the roller coaster. Fang headed toward the former.

The roller coaster's construction didn't inspire my confidence, remodeled or not. It looked more than a century old and was made of wood that had spent a lot of time exposed to Maine's harsh elements. The artwork painted on the sides was even less inspiring.

The car Fang chose had a grouping of four paintings. The first depicted a mob of horned demons ripping the wings off a screaming male angel. The next painting showed the wingless angel perched on a headstone, watching children play from a distance. In the third painting, the wingless angel stood close to the children, crooking a finger at one little green eyed girl. In the final painting, the wingless angel drifted through the girl's body like a ghost. The girl's eyes were black, her smile was gone, and she'd sprouted horns like the demons from the first painting. A slivered moon hung above the paintings.

I averted my eyes and assured myself it was the frigid air making my legs tremble. I slid into the car beside Fang.

"Your past wouldn't frighten me," I said, buckling my seat belt across my lap. "I'm guessing I'd be more appalled than anything."

"Appalled," he repeated. The tone of his voice led me to believe he'd accepted the accusation. Strange, since Fang never degraded himself.

The cars rolled backward, then lurched forward. Not in a smooth way, we headed away from the platform, climbing steadily uphill. The smell of sweat, rust, and saltwater blowing in from the sea filled the air. Fang sat close enough to smell. I caught the slightest trace of rich mint soap.

"You look pale," he said, leaning in to be heard above the clicking tracks.

I felt pale, but did not admit it.

At the crest of the hill there was a moment's hesitation. I could see for miles, noting where the dark countryside blended with the sparkle of the suburbs and gradually became the grid of Portland's lights.

The wind held its breath, allowing the damp air to settle on my skin.

Without meaning to, I stole a look at Fang. I found a measure of consolation in having him at my side.

Then he flashed a grin.

"Scared, Love?"

I clenched the metal bar drilled into the front of the car as I felt my weight tip forward. A shaky laugh slipped out of me. I've always been afraid of heights.

Our car flew demonically fast, my hair flapping out behind me. Swerving to the left, then to the right, we clattered over the tracks. Inside, I felt my organs float and fall in response to the ride. I looked down, trying to concentrate on something not moving.

It was then that I noticed my seat belt had come undone.

I tried to shout at Fang, but my voice was swallowed up in the rush of air. I felt my stomach go hollow, and I let go of the metal bar with one hand, trying to secure the seat belt around my waist with the other. The car lunged to the left. I slammed shoulders with Fang, pressing against him so hard it hurt.

The car soared up, and I felt it lift from the tracks, not fully riveted to them.

We were plunging. The flashing lights along the tracks blinded me; I couldn't see which way the track turned at the end of the dive.

It was too late. The car swerved to the right. I felt a jolt of panic, and then it happened. My left shoulder slammed against the car door. It flung open, and I was ripped out of the car while the roller coaster sped off without me. I rolled onto the tracks and grappled for something to anchor myself. My hands found nothing, and I tumbled over the edge, plunging straight down through the black air. The ground rushed up at me, and I opened my mouth to scream.

The next thing I knew, the ride screeched to a stop at the unloading platform.

My arms hurt from how tightly Fang held me. "Now that's what I call a scream," he said, grinning at me.

In a daze, I watched him place a hand over his ear as if my scream still echoed there. Not at all certain what had just happened, I stared at the place on his arm where my nails had left semicircles tattooed on his skin. Then my eyes moved to my seat belt. It was secured around my waist.

"My seat belt…" I began. "I thought—"

"Thought what?" Fang asked, sounding genuinely interested. "I thought … I flew out of the car. I literally thought … I was going to die."

"I think that's the point."

At my sides, my arms trembled. My knees wobbled slightly under the weight of my body.

"Guess we're stuck as partners," said Fang. I suspected a small degree of victory in his voice. I was too stunned to argue.

"The Archangel," I murmured, looking back over my shoulder at the ride, which had started its next ascent.

"It means high ranking angel." There was a definite smugness to his voice. "The higher up, the harder the fall."

I started to open my mouth, meaning to say again how I was sure I'd left the car for a moment and forces beyond my ability to explain had put me safely back behind my seat belt. Instead I said, "I think I'm more of a guardian angel girl."

Fang smirked again. Guiding me down the walk, he said, "I'll take you back to the arcade."

I've never been more scared in my life in front of a guy…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9:**

I walked inside the arcade, heading toward the table where Nudge and the guys were…but it was empty. No one was there…

"They bailed," Fang raised his eyebrows. His face looked amused, then again, with him, it could mean something else…

"You'll need a ride," he said.

"Nudge wouldn't leave me," I scoffed. Right? "She's probably playing table tennis."

I went towards the table tennis area. Fang drank a can of soda, offering me some. I shook my head, swallowing. No one was there either. Goddamnit.

"Pinball machines?" Fang asked. He was teasing me. Where the heck is Nudge?

I reached into my back pocket and got my cellphone. The screen was black and it wouldn't turn on.

"Fuck," I muttered. How did it not have battery, if it was fully charged?

"Going once…" said Fang, referring to giving me a ride.

I bit my lip, pondering my other options. I had no other options. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure I was ready to take Fang up on his offer.

Finally I blew out a sigh and prayed I wasn't about to make a mistake.

"You'll take me straight home," I said.

"If that's what you want."

I was about to ask Fang if he'd noticed anything strange on the Archangel, when I stopped myself. I was too scared to ask. What if I hadn't fallen? What if I'd imagined the whole thing? What if I was seeing things that weren't really happening? First the guy in the ski mask. Now this. I was pretty sure Fang's mind speaking was real, but everything else? Not so sure. I am totally going crazy.

Fang walked a few parking spaces over. A shiny black motorcycle rested on its kickstand. He swung on and tipped his head at the seat behind him. "Hop on."

I haven't ridden a motorcycle. Ever. Oh well…I swung my leg over the bike and realized how insecure I felt with nothing but a narrow strip of seat beneath me.

"Is it hard to drive?" I asked. No helmets? Wow…

"No," Fang said, answering. He laughed softly. "You're tense, Max. Relax."

When he pulled out of the parking space, the explosion of movement startled me; I'd been holding on to his shirt with just enough of the fabric between my fingers to keep my balance.

Fang accelerated onto the highway, and my thighs squeezed around him. I hoped I was the only one who noticed. When we reached my house, Fang eased the bike up the fog drenched driveway, killed the engine, and we both swung off.

Instead of staying here, Fang walked toward the porch steps. I mentally growled.

I climbed the porch after him and found him at the door. I watched, divided between confusion and escalating concern, as he drew a set of familiar keys from his pocket and inserted my house key into the bolt.

I reached into my pocket, looking for my keys. They weren't inside.

"Give me back my keys," I said, disconcerted at not knowing how my keys had come into his possession.

"You dropped them in the arcade when you were hunting for your cell," he said.

"I don't care where I dropped them. Give them back."

Fang held up his hands, claiming innocence, and backed away from the door. He leaned one shoulder against the bricks and watched me step up to the lock. I attempted to turn the key. It wouldn't budge. Then I stepped back, ignoring Fang's raised eyebrows. I stepped forward and kicked it really hard, making the door open, hitting the wall.

"Nice kick," he complimented. I smiled at him and his eyes softened. Then turned emotionless again. Weeirdoo…

"I'm surprised no one's here," he said.

"Yeah I'm home alone," I instantly regretted telling him that. No worries, I can beat up his ass…

"The whole night?"

Stalker much? "Um…I think so? My mom would be walking in at like two in the morning," I lied.

I fully intended to shut the door between us, but as I turned about, Fang filled the doorway, his arms braced on either side of the frame.

"You're not going to invite me in?" he asked. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Hungry? It's pretty late," he said.

"No. Yes. I mean, yes, but—"

Suddenly he was inside.

I took three steps back; he nudged the door closed with his foot. "You like Mexican?" he asked.

"I'm part Mexican."

"Oh so you won't mind if we cook tacos?" he asked. Seriously? I was about to give him a comeback but came up with a mature answer.

"Let's do it," I shrugged.

Then, he strode past me into the house. At the end of the hall, he steered left. To the kitchen.

He went to the sink and ran the tap while scrubbing soap halfway up his arms. Apparently having made himself at home, he went to the pantry first, then browsed the fridge, bringing out items here and there

—salsa, cheese, lettuce, a tomato. Then he dug through the drawers and found a knife.

I suspect I was halfway to panicking at the image of Fang holding a knife. I relaxed. My dad taught me how to disarm someone with a knife, if needed. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the reminder of him.

"I'll be right back," I said, hurrying out of the kitchen.

I went upstairs and coaxed my hair into a ponytail. With that out of the way, I pulled my thoughts together. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of Fang roaming freely through my house— armed with a knife. And my mom would kill me if she found out I'd invited Fang inside when Anne wasn't here.

"Can I take a rain check?" I asked upon finding him still hard at work in the kitchen two minutes later. I placed a hand on my stomach, signaling that it was bothering me. "Queasy," I said. "I think it was the ride home."

He paused in his chopping and looked up. "I'm almost finished."

I noticed he'd exchanged knives for a bigger—and sharper— blade.

As if he had a window to my thoughts, he held up the knife, examining it. The blade gleamed in the light. My stomach clenched. My hands curled into tight fists, and I was beginning to get in a fighting stance, but decided to save it.

"Put the knife down," I instructed quietly.

Fang looked from me to the knife and back again. After a minute he laid it down in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Max."

"That's…reassuring," I managed to say, but my throat was tight and dry. He spun the knife, handle pointing toward me. "Come here. I'll teach you how to make tacos."

I wanted him gone.

"I can't cook to save my life," I shrugged. It's true. And…There was a glint to his eye that made me think I should be frightened of him…and I was. But that fright was equal part allure. There was something extremely unsettling about being near him. In his presence, I didn't trust myself.

"How about a…deal?" His face was bent down, shadowed, and he looked up at me through his lashes.

The effect was an impression of trustworthiness. "Help me make tacos, and I'll answer a few of your questions."

"My questions?" Fang just smiled and nodded. I knew what he was saying. He was giving me a glimpse into his private world. A world where he could speak to my mind. Again he knew exactly what to say, at exactly the right moment.

Without a word, I moved beside him. He slid the cutting board in front of me.

"First," he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, "choose your tomato." He dipped his head so his mouth was against my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin.

"Good. Now pick up the knife."

"Does the chef always stand this close?" I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me.

"When he's revealing culinary secrets, yes. Hold the knife like you mean it."

"I am."

"Good." Stepping back, he gave me a thorough twice over, seemingly scrutinizing any imperfections—his eyes shifted up and down, here and there. For one moment, I thought I saw a secret smile of approval. "Cooking isn't taught," Fang said. "It's inherent. Either you've got it or you don't. Like chemistry. You think you're ready for chemistry?"

I pressed the knife down through the tomato; it split in two, each half rocking gently on the cutting board. "You tell me. Am I ready for chemistry?"

Fang made a deep sound I couldn't decipher and grinned.

After dinner Fang carried our plates to the sink. "I'll wash, you dry." Hunting through the drawers to the side of the sink, he found a dish towel and slung it playfully at me. I smiled at him. A real smile. I never give those to anyone, only Nudge and Mom and sometimes, Anne.

"About those questions…" I said. "When we were at the library, were you following me…"

I trailed off, and frowned. Fang was leaning lazily against the counter; his black hair fell over his eyes from under his ball cap. A crooked smile on his lips. My thoughts dissolved into smoke and a new thought formed into my mind.

I want to kiss him. Right now…Whoa hold up, what the hell?

"Hmm?" he asked, arching his eyebrows. I shook my head and began drying some plates. We finished after five minutes. And then…we found ourselves cramped in the space near the sink. Fang moved to take the dish towel from me, and our bodies touched. Neither of us moved, holding to the fragile link that welded us together.

I stepped back fast. He turned and looked at me, those black emotionless eyes taking me in.

"Scared?" he murmured.

"No," I scoffed.

"Liar," he smiled. My heart beat speeded up.

"Like hell I'm scared of a stupid guy," I snarled. I lied.

"No?"

I spoke without thinking. "Maybe it's just that I'm scared of—" I cursed myself for even beginning the sentence. What was I supposed to say now? I was not about to admit to Fang that almost everything about him frightened me. It would be giving him permission to provoke me further. "Maybe it's just that I'm scared of…of—"

"Liking me?"

Relieved that I didn't have to finish my own sentence, I automatically answered, "Yes." I realized too late what I'd confessed. "I mean, no! Definitely no. That is not what I was trying to say!"

Fang just chuckled.

"I'm just not…very comfortable around you," I admitted, gripping the counter.

"But?"

"But I kind of feel…a scary attraction to you," I mumbled, admitting it to both of us. I mentally sighed, happy it's out. Fang smiled.

"You're an ass," I smiled, trying to push him back with my hand.

He trapped my hand against his chest and yanked my sleeve down past my wrist, covering my hand with it. Just as quickly, he did the same thing with the other sleeve. He held my shirt by the cuffs, my hands captured. My mouth opened in protest.

Reeling me closer, he didn't stop until I was directly in front of him. Suddenly he lifted me onto the counter. My face was level with his. He fixed me with a dark, inviting smile. And that's when I realized this moment had been dancing around the edge of my fantasies for several days now.

I reached up to his hat, and took it off, placing it beside me. His hair covered his forehead, black as a raven. I bit my lip and scooted closer to the edge of the counter, my legs dangling off. A part of my mind wanted to stop but the other part kept saying _Yes!_

He placed his hands beside my hips, moving his head closer and tilting it to the side. His scent, which was all damp dark earth, overwhelmed me. I took a deep whiff of it, then I came to my senses.

This isn't right. Fang isn't right. I can't do this with him. He's just like every other guy. He frightens me a bit in a very bad way.

"Fang you need to go," I whispered. "Yeah, you should go. Definitely go."

"You want me to go here?" his mouth was on my shoulder. "Or here?" It moved up to my neck and moved up even more. His mouth sucked at my skin, making me shiver and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His mouth stopped at the corner of my mouth and brushed his lips against mine, sending a zillion jolts of electricity through my body. I gasped when his hands stroked the bare skin on my hips, where my sweater had ridden up.

Fang pulled away slightly and looked into my eyes, his eyes lowered towards my mouth, he was already leaning in…he's so close. Our lips were an inch apart, when I got a message. I looked down, and saw it's a message from my mom. I smiled when Fang's lips landed on my forehead. I felt him smile.

**Hey sweetie! How are you?**

**I'll call you later,** I responded.

**Okay...**

My eyes widened and my smile left my face. I realized what we were doing.

"You need to leave," I said. "My mom's coming in in five minutes."

I grabbed his ball cap and placed it on his head. We both smiled.

"Sweet dreams tonight, Okay?"

"Okay." **(A/n: Where does that come from?!)**

"About that party tomorrow night …"

"I'll think about it," I managed to say.

Fang tucked a piece of paper inside my pocket, his touch sending hot sensations down my legs. His hand lingered a few seconds more on my pocket, and his fingers slid up, brushing against my clothed leg. "Here's the address. I'll be looking for you. Come alone."

A moment later I heard the front door close behind him. A fiery blush worked its way up my face.. There was nothing wrong with fire…as long as you didn't stand too close. Something to keep in mind.

I leaned back against the cabinets, taking short, shallow breaths. Oh dear lord…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10:**

My phone, nosily, began ringing at two in the freaking my morning. I covered my head with the pillow and groaned when it kept ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing…

Finally, it stopped and went to voicemail. But it started to ring again and I slammed my hand on the night stand, grabbing my phone and answering.

"What!?" I said harshly.

"What the hell happened to you!? You never came back and we began to worry! I thought you went to go get cotton candy! Since you answered, tell me where you are so I can go kill you, Max." I rolled my eyes at the last part.

"I thought you were kidnapped!" she shrieked.

"Nudge I was delayed," I said groggily.

"Delayed? What the hell do you mean, by 'Delayed'?"

"I drove around the parking lot for an hour," Nudge said. "Dylan walked the park flashing the only photo I had of you on my cell phone. I tried your cell a zillion times. Hang on. Are you at home? How did you get home?"

"Fang gave me a ride," I said.

"Stalker Fang?" she teased.

"Oh shut up," I mumbled.

"Besides, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" I said tersely. "You left without me."

"You sound worked up. Really worked up. No, that's not it. You sound agitated…flustered…aroused." I could feel her eyes widen. "He kissed you, didn't he?"

I didn't answer. She shrieked and gasped wildly into the phone.

"Oh my gosh your first kiss! Sweetie, I'm happy for you! He did! I knew it! I've seen the way he looks at you. I knew this was coming. I saw it from a mile away."

I smiled. Always being exaggerated Nudge, I thought.

"ZOMG! Was it a peach kiss? A plum Kiss? Or-or an alfalfa kiss?" WTH?

"What?" I blinked. What the hell is an 'alfalfa kiss'?

"Was it a peck, did mouths part, or was there tongue? Never mind. You don't have to answer that. Fang isn't the kind of guy to deal with preliminaries. There was tongue involved. Guaranteed."

I sighed and anger fired in me. I was vulnerable to him and he took advantage of me. Next time I see him, he's going to go to the hospital…

"Let's talk about this later," I mumbled.

"Yeah right!" she squealed.

"You want me to kill you?" I asked.

"Seriously? You're going to keep me in suspense?"

"Please forget about it," I sighed.

"No way."

"Look I'll make it up to you," I said, not thinking.

"Fine…oh I know…you could come shopping with me!" My eyes opened wide, sleepiness banishing. I shook my head.

"B-but-" I stuttered.

"No Buts! Just yours in my car at four!" she squealed and hung up. I cursed and buried my face in my pillow. Hey I owe her and said I'd make it up to her…it's better than wearing makeup.

I'm going to kill her too. I slid deep into my bed. I pictured Fang's unprincipled grin and his glittering black eyes. After thrashing around in bed for several minutes, I gave up trying to get comfortable. The truth was, as long as Fang was on my mind, comfort was out of the question. Usually, when I beat up someone, they try to not get on my bad side. But Fang…he's just asking to get beat up all the time…but I don't beat him up…

Suddenly I sat up straight in bed and reached for my cell. I switched on the lamp.

The battery showed fully charged.

My spine tingled ominously. My cell was supposed to be dead. So how had my mom and Nudge gotten through?

Rain battered the colorful awnings of the shops along the pier and spilled to the sidewalk below. The antique gas lamps that were staggered down both sides of the street glowed to life. With our umbrellas bumping together, Nudge and I hustled down the sidewalk and under the pink and white striped awning of Victoria's Secret. We shook out our umbrellas in unison and propped them just outside the entrance.

A boom of thunder sent us flying through the doors. I followed Nudge around, my ear buds blasting Ramones.

"_You've got to pick up the pieces_," I sang. Nudge shook her head at me with a smile. Nudge said something and I took them off.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

"Look around for something," she shrugged. I sighed and did as she told me to. My eyes picking out a lacy black bra from the pile. I shouldn't have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing. Like Patch. Mentally, I pictured him, my hands on his neck and beating him up. I smiled at the thought.

Nudge caught me off guard with a pair of turquoise leopard print undies slung at my chest. "These would look nice on you," she said. I snorted and continued to listen to music.

What had I been thinking? I'd come this close to kissing Fang. The same Fang who just might be invading my mind. The same Fang who saved me from plunging to my death on the Archangel—because that's what I was sure had happened, although I had zero logical explanations. I wondered if he had somehow suspended time and caught me during the fall. If he was capable of talking to my thoughts, maybe, just maybe, he was capable of other things.

Or maybe, I thought with a chill, I could no longer trust my mind.

I still had the scrap of paper Fang had tucked inside my pocket, but there was no way I was going to the party tonight. I secretly enjoyed the attraction between us, but the mystery and eeriness outweighed it.

From now on, I was going to flush Fang out of my system—and this time, I meant it. It would be like a cleansing diet. I tried distracting Nudge from my quietness; she can pry out answers with her chattiness. See, there's a reason why everyone calls her Nudge-since you have to Nudge her to shut up when she talks fifty miles per hour and won't stop.

I paid. Then, thinking it would be easier to forget about Fang if I was looking at something more benign, I wandered over to the wall of lotions. I looked at the names, trying to get my thoughts off the idiot. Then stopped. It was like someone had dropped a scoop of ice cream down the back of my shirt. It was the same shivery jolt I experienced whenever Fang approached.

Nudge and I were still the only two customers in the shop, but on the other side of the plate glass window, I saw a hooded figure step back under a shadowed awning across the street. Freshly unsettled, I stood immobile for a whole minute before I pulled myself together and went to find Nudge.

"Time to go," I told her.

She was flipping through a rack of nightgowns. "Wow. Look at this—flannel pajamas, fifty percent off. I need a pair of flannel pj's."

I kept one eye glued to the window. "I think I'm being followed."

Nudge's head jerked up. "Fang?"

"No. Look across the street."

Nudge squinted. "I don't see anyone."

Neither did I anymore. A car had driven past, interrupting my line of vision. "I think they went inside the shop."

"How do you know they're following you?"

"A bad feeling."

"Did they look like anyone we know? For example … a cross between Pippi Long stocking and the Wicked Witch of the West would obviously give us the school's slut."

"It wasn't Lissa," I said, eyes still trained across the street. "When I left the arcade last night to buy cotton candy, I saw someone watching me. I think the same person is here now."

"Are you serious? Why are you just telling me this now? Who is it?"

I didn't know. And that scared me more than anything.

I directed my voice at the saleslady. "Is there a back door to the shop?"

She looked up from tidying a drawer. "Employees only."

"Is the person male or female?" Nudge wanted to know.

"I can't tell."

"Well, why do you think they're following you? What do they want?"

"To scare me." It seemed reasonable enough.

"Why would they want to scare you?"

Again, I didn't know.

"We need a diversion," I told Nudge.

"Exactly what I was thinking," she said. "And we know I'm really good at diversions. Give me your jean jacket."

I stared at her. "No way. We know nothing about this person. I'm not letting you go out there dressed like me. What if they're armed?" Besides, sure I've given her some fighting lessons and she was good, but she didn't know how I disarm the person if he/she has a weapon. And I'm not risking her to know. "Sometimes your imagination scares me," Nudge said.

I had to admit, the idea that they were armed and out to kill was a little far fetched. But with all the creepy things happening lately, I didn't blame myself for feeling on edge and assuming the worst.

"I'll go out first," said Nudge. "If they follow me, you follow them. I'll head up the hill toward the cemetery, and then we'll bookend them and get some answers."

A minute later Nudge left the store wearing my jean jacket. She picked up my red umbrella, holding it low on her head. Other than the fact that she was a few inches too short and had darker skin and different colored hair, she passed as me. From where I crouched behind the rack of nightgowns, I watched the hooded figure step out of the store across the street and follow after Nudge. I crept closer to the window. Though the figure's baggy sweatshirt and jeans were meant to look androgynous, the walk was feminine. Definitely feminine. She'd be easier to beat up than I thought.

Nudge and the girl turned the corner and disappeared, and I jogged to the door. Outside, the rain had turned into a downpour.

Grabbing Nudge's umbrella, I picked up my pace, keeping under the awnings, steering clear of the pelting rain. I could feel the bottoms of my jeans dampening. I wished I'd worn boots.

Behind me the pier extended out to the cement gray ocean. In front of me, the strip of shops ended at the base of a steep, grassy hill. At the top of the hill, I could just make out the high cast iron fence of the local cemetery.

I unlocked the Neon, cranked the defroster to high, and set the windshield wipers to full power. I drove out of the lot and turned left, accelerating up the winding hill. The trees of the cemetery loomed ahead, their branches deceptively coming to life through the mad chop of the wipers. The white marble headstones seemed to stab up from the darkness. The gray headstones dissolved into the atmosphere.

Out of nowhere, a red object hurtled into the windshield. It smacked the glass directly in my line of vision, then flew up and over the car. I stomped on the brakes and the Neon skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the road.

I opened the door and got out. I jogged to the back of the car, searching for what had hit me.

There was a moment of confusion as my mind processed what I was seeing. My red umbrella was tangled in the weeds. It was broken; one side was collapsed in the exact way I might expect if it had been hurled with force against another, harder object.

Through the onslaught of rain I heard a choked sob.

"Nudge?" I said. I jogged across the road, shielding my eyes from the rain as I swept my gaze over the landscape. A body lay crumpled just ahead. I started running.

"Nudge!" I dropped to my knees beside her. She was on her side, her legs drawn up to her chest. She groaned.

"What happened? Are you okay? Can you move?" I threw my head back, blinking rain. Think! I told myself. My cell phone. Back in the car. I had to call 911.

"I'm going to get help," I told Nudge.

She moaned and clutched my hand. I lowered myself down on her, holding her tightly. Tears burned behind my eyes. "What happened? Was it the person who followed you? Did they do this to you? What did they do?"

Nudge murmured something, I only heard "handbag." Sure enough, her handbag was missing.

"You're going to be all right." I worked to hold my voice steady. I had a dark feeling stirring inside me, and I was trying to keep it at bay. I was certain the same person who'd watched me at Delphic and followed me shopping today was responsible, but I blamed myself for putting Nudge in harm's way. I ran back to the Neon and punched 911 into my cell.

Trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice, I said, "I need an ambulance. My friend was attacked and robbed." This wasn't what I expected. At all…


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11:**

On Monday morning, before school, I called the hospital, and was told Nudge was heading to the OR. Her left arm had been broken during the attack, and since the bone wasn't aligned, she needed surgery. I wanted to see her but couldn't until later in the afternoon, when the anesthesia wore off and hospital staff moved her to her own room.

It was especially important that I hear her version of the attack before she either forgot the details or embellished them. Anything she remembered might fill a hole in the picture and help me figure out who had done this.

As the hours stretched toward afternoon, my focus shifted from Nudge to the girl outside Victoria's Secret.

Who was she? What did she want? Maybe it was a disturbing coincidence that Nudge had been attacked minutes after I'd watched the girl follow after her, but my instincts disagreed. I wished I had a better picture of what she looked like. The bulky hoodie and jeans, compounded with the rain, had done a good job of disguising her. For all I knew it could've been Lissa. But deep inside it didn't feel like the right match. And Nudge could've beaten the shit out of her easily.

I swung by my locker to pick up my biology textbook, then headed to my last class. I walked in to find Fang's chair empty. Typically, he arrived at the last possible moment, tying with the tardy bell, but the bell rang and Coach took his place at the chalk board and started lecturing on equilibrium.

I pondered Fang's empty chair. A tiny voice at the back of my head speculated that his absence might be connected to Nudge's attack. It was a little strange that he was missing on the morning after. And I couldn't forget the icy chill I'd felt moments before looking outside Victoria's Secret and realizing I was being watched. Every other time I'd felt that way, it was because Fang was near. I swear, if it was Fang who did this to Nudge, I will do sooooo much worse than what happened to Nudge.

During class, the whole period, my mind was trying to come up with possibilities about Fang's disappearance…and maybe his involvement with Nudge's attack. When the bell rang, we all left the class, but Coach stopped me from leaving. What does he want now?

"Uh Max, Miss Dwyer wants me to give this to you," he said, giving me a folded piece of paper, I took it but…

"Who's Miss Dwyer?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh she's the new school psychologist. Dr. Henry has been replaced," he said, with a tight smile. Okay. I unfolded the paper and read the message.

**Dear Max,**

**I'll be taking over Dr. Henry's role as your school****psychologist. I noticed you missed your last two appointments with Dr. H. Please come in right away so we can get acquainted. I've mailed a letter to your mother to make her aware of the change.**

**All best,**

**Miss Dwyer**

"Thanks," I told Coach, folding the note until it was small enough to tuck inside my pocket.

Out in the hall I merged with the flow of the crowd. No avoiding it now—I had to go. I steered my way through the halls until I could see the closed door to Dr. Henry's office. Sure enough, there was a new name plaque on the door. The polished brass gleamed against the drab oak door:

_**MISS B. DWYER, SCHOOL**____**PSYCHOLOGIST.**_

I knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened from within. Miss Dwyer had flawless pale skin, green eyes, a lush mouth, and fine, straight blond hair that tumbled past her elbows. It was parted at the crown of her oval shaped face. A pair of turquoise cat's eye glasses sat at the tip of her nose, and she was dressed formally in a gray herring bone pencil skirt and a pink silk blouse. Her figure was willowy but feminine. She couldn't have been more than five years older than me.

"You must be Maximum Ride. You look just like the picture in your file," she said, giving my hand a firm pump. Her voice was abrupt, but not rude. Businesslike. I flinched when she used my first name. No one has used my full name since dad…passed away.

Stepping back, she signaled me to enter the office.

"Can I get you juice, water?" she asked. I shook my head.

"What happened to Dr. Henry?"

"He took early retirement. I've had my eye on this job for a while, so I jumped on the opening. I went to Florida State, but I grew up in Portland, and my parents still live there. It's nice to be close to family again."

No need to hear your life story, lady. I surveyed the small office. It had changed drastically since I'd last been in a few weeks ago. The wall to wall bookshelves were now filled with academic but generic looking hardcovers, all bound in neutral colors with gold lettering. Dr. Henry had used the shelves to display family pictures, but there were no snapshots of Miss Dwyer's's private life. The same fern hung by the window, but under Dr. Henry's care, it had been far more brown than green. A few days with Miss Dwyer and already it looked pert and alive. There was a pink paisley chair opposite the desk, and several moving boxes stacked in the far corner.

"Friday was my first day," she explained, seeing my eyes fall on the moving boxes. "I'm still unpacking. Have a seat."

I lowered my messenger bag down my arm and sat on the paisley chair. Nothing in the small room gave me any clues as to Miss Dwyer's personality. She had a stack of file folders on her desk— not neat, but not messy, either—and a white mug of what looked like tea. There wasn't a trace of perfume or air freshener. Her computer monitor was black.

Miss Dwyer crouched in front of a file cabinet behind her desk, tugged out a clean manila folder, and printed my name on the tab in black Magic Marker. She placed it on her desk next to my old file, which bore a few of Dr. Henry's coffee mug stains.

"I spent the whole weekend going through Dr. Henry's files," she said. "Just between the two of us, his handwriting gives me a migraine, so I'm copying over all the files. I was amazed to find he didn't use a computer to type his notes. Who still uses longhand in this day and age?"

She settled back into her swivel chair, crossed her legs, and smiled politely at me. "Well. Why don't you tell me a little bit about the history of your meetings with Dr. Henry? I could barely decipher his notes. It appeared the two of you were discussing how you feel about your mom's new job."

"It's not all that new. She's been working for a year."

"She used to be a stay at home mom, correct? And after your dad's passing, she took on a full time job." She squinted at a sheet of paper in my file. "She works for an auction company, correct? It looks like she coordinates estate auctions all down the coast." She peeked at me over her glasses. "That must require a lot of time away from home."

"We wanted to stay in our farmhouse," I said, my tone touching on the defensive. "We couldn't afford the mortgage if she took a local job." I hadn't exactly loved my sessions with Dr. Henry, but I found myself resenting him for retiring and abandoning me to Miss Dwyer. I was starting to get a feel for her, and she seemed attentive to detail. I sensed her itching to dig into every dark corner of my life.

"Yes, but you must be very lonely all by yourself at the farmhouse."

"We have a housekeeper who stays with me every afternoon until nine or ten at night," I snorted.

"But a housekeeper isn't the same thing as a mother."

I eyed the door. I didn't even try to be discreet. I rolled my eyes in response. I have a name for her, how bout "Dr. Amazing"?

"Do you have a best friend? A boyfriend? Someone you can talk to when your housekeeper doesn't quite…fit the bill?" She dunked a tea bag in the mug, then raised it for a sip.

"I have a best friend." I'd made up my mind to say as little as possible. The less I said, the shorter the appointment. The shorter the appointment, the sooner I could visit Vee.

Her eyebrows peaked. "Boyfriend?"

"No," I scoffed.

"You're an attractive girl. I imagine there must be some interest from the opposite sex."

"I hate guys. Dr. Henry knows that, and when a guy tries to ask me out or make a move on me I beat the shit out of them," I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at her and settled back in my chair.

Dr. Amazing gaped at me for cussing and I saw some fear spark in her eyes.

"Here's the thing," I said as patiently as possible. "I really appreciate that you're trying to help me, but I had this exact conversation with Dr. Henry a year ago when my dad died. Rehashing it with you isn't helping. It's like going back in time and reliving it all over again. Yes, it was tragic and horrible, and I'm still dealing with it every day, but what I really need is to move on." I shrugged. We just met and I don't like her.

Silence hung between us.

"Would you like to talk about something else?" she squeaked the last part. I inwardly smiled in victory.

"No," I said, and stood up. She examined my file. I lifted my backpack off the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair. "I don't mean to cut things short, but I need to be somewhere at four."

"Oh?"

I was not going to tell her about Nudge. "Library research," I lied.

"For which class?"

I said the first answer that popped to mind. "Biology."

"Speaking of classes, how are yours going? Any concerns in that department?"

"No."

She flipped a few more pages in my file. "Excellent grades," she observed. "It says here you're tutoring your biology partner, Fang Walker." She looked up, apparently wanting my confirmation.

I was surprised my tutoring assignment was important enough to make it into the school psychologist's file. "So far we haven't been able to meet. Conflicting schedules." I gave a What can you do? shrug.

She tapped my file on her desk, tidying all the loose sheets of paper into one clean stack, then inserted it into the new file she'd hand labeled. "To give you fair warning, I'm going to talk with Coach and see about setting some parameters for your tutoring sessions. I'd like all meetings to be held here at school, under the direct supervision of a teacher or other faculty member. I don't want you tutoring Fang off school property. I especially don't want the two of you meeting alone."

I rolled my eyes. "Why? What's going on?"

"I can't discuss it."

The only reason I could think why she didn't want me alone with Fang was that he was dangerous. My past might frighten you, he'd said on the loading platform of the Archangel.

"Thanks for your time. I won't keep you any longer," Dr. Amazing said. She strode to the door, propping it open with her slender hip. She gave a parting smile, but it looked perfunctory.

After leaving Miss Dwyer's office, I called the hospital. Nudge's surgery was over, but she was still in the recovery room and couldn't have visitors until seven p.m. I consulted the clock on my phone. Three hours. I found the Fiat in the student parking lot and dropped inside, hoping an afternoon spent doing homework at the library would keep my mind off the long wait.

I stayed at the library through the afternoon, and before I realized it, the clock on the wall had passed quietly into evening. My stomach rumbled against the quiet of the library, and my thoughts went to the vending machine just inside the entrance.

The last of my homework could wait until later, but there was still one project that required the help of library resources. I had a vintage IBM computer at home with dial up Internet service, and I typically tried to save myself a lot of unnecessary shouting and hair pulling by using the library's computer lab. I had a theater review of Othello due on the eZine editor's desk by nine p.m., and I made a deal with myself, promising I'd go hunt down food as soon as I finished it.

Packing up my belongings, I walked to the elevators. Inside the cage I pushed the button to close the doors, but didn't immediately request a floor. I pulled out my cell and called the hospital again.

"Hi," I told the answering nurse. "My friend is recovering from surgery, and when I checked in earlier this afternoon, I was told she'd be out tonight. Her name is Monique Madison."

There was a pause and the clicking of computer keys. "Looks like they'll be bringing her to a private room within the hour."

"What time do visiting hours end?"

"Eight."

"Thank you." I disconnected and pressed the third floor button, sending me up.

On the third floor I followed signs to collections, hoping that if I read several theater reviews in the local newspaper, it would spark my muse.

"Excuse me," I said to the librarian behind the collections desk. "I'm trying to find copies of the Portland Press Herald from the past year. Particularly the theater guide."

"We don't keep anything that current in collections," she said, "but if you look online, I believe the Portland Press Herald keeps archives on their website. Head straight down the hallway behind you and you'll see the media lab on your left."

Inside the lab I signed onto a computer. I was about to dive into my assignment when an idea struck me.

I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier. After confirming no one was watching over my shoulder, I Googled "Fang Walker." Maybe I'd find an article that would shed light on his past. Or maybe he kept a blog.

I frowned at the search results. Nothing. No Facebook, no MySpace, no blog. It was like he didn't exist.

"What's your story, Fang?" I murmured. "Who are you?"

Half an hour later, I'd read several reviews and my eyes were glazing over. I spread my online search to all newspapers in Maine. A link to Kinghorn Prep's school paper popped up. A few seconds passed before I placed the familiar name. Dylan had transferred from Kinghorn Prep. On a whim, I decided to check it out. If the school was as elite as Dylan claimed, it probably had a respectable paper.

I clicked on the link, scrolled over the archives page, and randomly chose March 21 of earlier this year.

A moment later I had a headline.

**STUDENT QUESTIONED IN KINGHORN PREP MURDER**

I scooted my chair closer, lured by the idea of reading something more exciting than theater reviews.

A sixteen year old Kinghorn Preparatory student who police were questioning in what has been dubbed

"The Kinghorn Hanging" has been released without charge. After eighteen year old Miranda Sunders body was found hanging from a tree on the wooded campus of Kinghorn Prep, police questioned sophomore Dylan Taylors, who was seen with the victim on the night of her death.

My mind was slow to process the information. Dylan was questioned as part of a murder investigation?

Sunders worked as a waitress at Blind Joe's. Police confirm that Miranda and Dylan were seen walking the campus together late Saturday night. Miranda's body was discovered Sunday morning, and Saunders was released Monday afternoon after a suicide note was discovered in Dylan's apartment.

"Find anything interesting?"

I jumped at the sound of Dylan's voice behind me. I whirled around to find him leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, his mouth set in a line. Something cold flushed through me, like a blush, only opposite.

I wheeled my chair slightly to the right, trying to position myself in front of the computer's monitor. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my death glare. He flinched and fear shadowed his eyes.

"What's it to you?" I snarled.

Dylan pushed away from the doorjamb and walked inside the lab. I groped blindly behind me for the monitor's on/off button. Where was the button?

"I was working on some theater reviews," I lied.

Dylan peered around me. "Theater reviews?"

My fingers brushed a button, and I heard the monitor drain to black. "I'm sorry, what did you say you're doing here?"

"I was walking by when I saw you. Something wrong? You seem…overly tough."

"Um I'm always overly tough," I said.

Dylan hooked a nearby chair and wheeled it next to mine. He sat backward on it and leaned close, invading my personal space. "Maybe I can help with the review."

I stepped away from him. If this gets ugly…then he's in for a fight. I leaned away. "Wow, that's really nice of you, but I'm going to call it quits for now. I need to grab something to eat. It's a good time to break." Another lie.

"Let me buy you dinner," he said. "Isn't there a diner just around the corner?"

"Thanks, but my mom will be expecting me. She's been out of town all week and gets back tonight." I stood and tried to step around him. He held his cell phone out, and it caught me in the navel.

"Call her."

I lowered my gaze to the phone and scrambled for an excuse. "I'm not allowed to go out on school nights."

"It's called lying, Max. Tell her homework is taking longer than you expected. Tell her you need another hour at the library. She's not going to know the difference."

Dylan's voice had taken on an edge I'd never heard before. His blue eyes snapped with a newfound coldness, his mouth looked thinner.

"I don't go out with guys," I growled.

"You went out with me on SATURDAY," he responded. I rolled my eyes.

"I did it because Nudge wanted to get closer to Hunter, dumbass," with that, I grabbed my stuff and stormed out of the room.

Halfway to the collections desk, I dared a glance over my shoulder. The plate glass walls showed that the lab was empty. Dylan was nowhere to be seen. I retraced my steps to the computer, keeping my eyes on guard in case he reappeared. I turned on the monitor; the murder investigation article was still up.

Sending a copy to the nearest printer, I tucked it inside my binder, logged off, and walked out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

I was still at the library when my phone buzzed, but when mom's number was on the screen I answered quickly, ignoring the librarian's deadly gaze.

"Hey mom," I said, smiling.

"Hi sweetie!" she responded.

"How's are you?"

"Oh I'm good! New York is very exhausting…but I should be home soon. The auction finished earlier than I thought."

I looked around for a clock. I wanted to stop by the hospital and see Nudge before heading home.

"Here's the deal," I told my mom. "I need to visit Nudge. I might be a few minutes late. I'll hurry—I promise."

"Of course." I detected the tiniest disappointment. "Any updates? I got your message this morning about her surgery."

"Surgery is over. They're taking her to a private room any minute now."

"Max." I heard the swell of emotion in her voice. "I'm so glad it wasn't you. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. Especially since your dad—" She broke off. "I'm just glad we're both safe. Say hi to Nudge for me. See you soon. Hugs and kisses."

"Love you, Mom."

Coldwater's Regional Medical Center is a three story redbrick structure with a covered walkway leading up to the main entrance. I passed through the revolving glass doors and stopped at the main desk to inquire about Nudge. I was told she'd been moved to a room half an hour ago, and that visiting hours ended in fifteen minutes. I located the elevators and punched the button to send me up a floor.

At room 207 I pushed on the door.

"Nudge?" I coaxed a bouquet of balloons inside behind me, crossed the small foyer, and found Nudge reclining in bed, her left arm in a cast and slung across her body.

"Hi!" I said when I saw she was awake.

Nudge expelled a luxurious sigh. "I love drugs. Really. They're amazing." I laughed at her comment.

"So?" I asked Nudge. "What's the verdict?"

"The verdict? My doctor is a lard arse. Closely resembles an Oompa Loompa. Don't give me your severe look. Last time he came in, he broke into the Funky Chicken. And he's forever eating chocolate.

Mostly chocolate animals. You know the solid chocolate bunnies they're selling for Easter? That's what the Oompa Loompa ate for dinner. Had a chocolate duck at lunch with a side of yellow Peeps." I snorted and shook my head.

"I meant the verdict…" I pointed at the medical paraphernalia adorning her.

"Oh. One busted arm, a concussion, and assorted cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Fortunately for my quick reflexes, I jumped out of the way before any major damage was done. When it comes to reflexes, I'm like a cat," she smiled.

"I'm so sorry," I told Nudge sincerely. "I should be the one in the hospital bed."

"And get all the drugs? Uh- uh. No way."

"Have the police found any leads?" I asked.

"Nada," I responded in spanish,

"No eyewitnesses?"

"We were at a cemetery in the middle of a rainstorm," Nudge pointed out. "Most normal people were indoors."

She was right. Most normal people had been indoors. Of course, Nudge and I had been out … along with the mysterious girl who followed her out of Victoria's Secret.

"How did it happen?" I asked.

"I was walking to the cemetery like we planned, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps closing in behind me," Nudge explained. "That's when I looked back, and everything came together really fast. There was the flash of a gun, and him lunging for me. Like I told the cops, my brain wasn't exactly transmitting, 'Get a visual ID.' It was more like, 'Holy freak show, I'm about to go splat!' He growled, whacked me three or four times with the gun, grabbed my handbag, and ran."

I was more confused than ever. "Wait. It was a guy? You saw his face?"

"Of course it was a guy. He had dark eyes … charcoal eyes. But that's all I saw. He was wearing a ski mask."

At the mention of the ski mask, my heart skittered through several beats. It was the same guy who'd jumped in front of the Neon, I was sure of it. I hadn't imagined him—Nudge was proof. I remembered the way all evidence of the crash had disappeared. Maybe I hadn't imagined that part either. This guy, whoever he was, was real. And he was out there. But if I hadn't imagined the damage to the Neon, what really happened that night? Was my vision, or my memory, somehow…being altered?

"Who'd you tell we went shopping?" I asked curiously.

"My mom," she responded, biting her lip. Oh great…

"Who else?" I asked.

"I think I mentioned it to…Dylan," she squeaked out the last part. Oh dear lord. I pinched the bridge of my nose, closed my eyes and sighed.

"Why?"

"Why what?" she asked.

"Did you tell that dick?" I sighed. She just shrugged. Okay time to come clean…

"Remember the night I drove the Neon home and hit a deer?"

"Yeah?" she said, frowning.

"It wasn't a deer. It was a guy. A guy in a ski mask."

"Shut up," she whispered. "You're telling me my attack wasn't random? You're telling me this guy wants something from me? No, wait. He wants something from you. I was wearing your jacket. He thought I was you."

My stomach lurched and my knees shook but I stayed up.

After a count of silence, she said, "Are you sure you didn't tell Fang about shopping? Because on further reflection, I'm thinking the guy had Fang's build. Tallish. Leanish. Strongish. Sexyish, aside from the attacking part."

"Fang's eyes aren't charcoal, they're black," I pointed out. "And I like hell I'd tell him where I went."

Nudge raised an indecisive shoulder. "Maybe his eyes were black. I can't remember. It happened really fast. I can be specific about the gun," she said helpfully. "It was aimed at me. Like, right at me."

If Fang had attacked Nudge, he must have seen her leave the store wearing my jacket and thought it was me. When he figured out he was following the wrong girl, he hit Nudge with the gun out of anger and vanished. The only problem was, I couldn't imagine Fang brutalizing Nudge. It felt off. Besides, he was supposedly at a party on the coast all night. Oh and if he was my best friend's attacker…let's hope he's not in a dark alley…

"Did your attacker look at all like Dylan?" I asked.

I watched Nudge absorb the question. Whatever drug she'd been given, it seemed to slow her thought process, and I could practically hear each gear in her brain grind into action.

"He was about twenty pounds too light and four inches too tall to be Dylan."

"This is all my fault," I said. "I never should have let you leave the store wearing my jacket." It's true.

"I know you don't want to hear this," said Nudge, looking like she was fighting a drug induced yawn. "But the more I think on it, the more similarities I see between Fang and my attacker. Same build. Same long legged stride. Too bad his school file was empty. We need an address. We need to canvass his neighborhood. We need to find a gullible little granny neighbor who could be coaxed into mounting a webcam in her window and aiming it at his house. Because something about Fang just isn't right."

"You honestly think Fang could have done this to you?" I asked, still unconvinced. He wouldn't right?

Nudge chewed at her lip. "I think he's hiding something. Something big."

I wasn't going to argue that. I nodded in agreement.

She sank deeper in her bed. "My body's tingling. I feel good all over."

"We don't have an address," I said, "but we do know where he works."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Nudge asked, eyes brightening briefly through the haze of chemical sedation.

"Based on past experience, I hope not."

"The truth is, we need to brush up on our sleuthing skills," said Nudge. "Use them or lose them, that's what Coach said. We need to find out more about Fang's past. Hey, I bet if we document, Coach will even give us extra credit."

Highly doubtful, given that if Nudge was involved, the sleuthing would likely take an illegal turn. Not to mention, this particular sleuthing job had nothing to do with biology. Even remotely.

The slight smile Nudge had dragged out of me faded. Fun as it was to be lighthearted about the situation, I was frightened. The guy in the ski mask was out there, planning his next attack. It kind of made sense that Fang might know what was going on. The guy in the ski mask jumped in front of the Neon the day after Fang became my biology partner. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence.

Just then the nurse popped her head inside the door. "It's eight o'clock," she told me, tapping her watch.

"Visiting hours are over."

"I'll be right out," I said.

As soon as her footsteps faded down the hall, I shut the door to Nudge's room. I wanted privacy before I told her about the murder investigation surrounding Dylan. However, when I got back to Nudge's bed, it was apparent that her medication had kicked in.

"Here it comes," she said with an expression of pure bliss. "Drug rush…any moment now…the surge of warmth…bye bye, Mr. Pain…"

I said, "Call me tomorrow after you're discharged." She smiled and waved as I left. If only I could tell her about Dylan…

I pulled the Fiat into the garage and pocketed the keys. The sky lacked stars on the drive home, and sure enough, a light rain started to fall. I tugged on the garage door, lowering it to the ground and locking it.

I let myself into the kitchen. A light was on somewhere upstairs, and a moment later my mom came running down the stairs and threw her arms around me.

My mom has dark brown wavy hair and brown eyes. Mom's an inch taller. Besides that, she always smells heaven.

"I'm so glad you're safe," she said, squeezing me tight.

Safe ish, I thought.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13**

The next night, at seven, The Bordeline parking lot was packed. Nudge and I convinced her parents to let us go out to celebrate, but we had other plans in mind.

Tuesday was Fang's night off, and Nudge had put it into my head that it would be the perfect time to interrogate his coworkers. I envisioned myself sashaying up to the bar, giving the bartender a coy Lissa The Slut look, then segueing to the topic of Fang. I needed his home address. I needed any prior arrests. I needed to know if he had a connection to the guy in the ski mask, no matter how tenuous. And I needed to figure out why the guy in the ski mask and the mysterious girl were in my life.

I fingered my pocket making sure my list of interrogation questions were there. One side of the list dealt with questions about Fang's personal life. The flip side had flirting prompts. Just in case. Nudge even asked me to get some purple highlights. Mom gave me permission after asking her a million times. I was gonna do blue but purple is fine.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said. "What is that?"

"Nothing," I said, folding the list.

Nudge tried to grab the list, but I was faster and had it crammed deep in my pocket before she could get to it.

"Rule number one," Nudge said. "There is no such thing as notes in flirting."

I rolled my eyes and told her what they were. She nodded in approval. She reached behind her and grabbed a skirt, and stiletto heels. Oh god.

"The hell is that?" I asked.

"Stilettos," she squealed.

"I can't walk in high heels," I reminded her.

"Good thing they're not high, then."

"They look high," I said, eying the protruding stiletto.

"Almost five inches. They left 'high' behind at four."

Lovely. If I didn't break my neck, I just might get to humiliate myself while seducing secrets out of Fang's coworkers.

"Here's the deal," said Nudge as we strode down the sidewalk to the front doors. "I sort of invited a couple of people. The more the merrier, right?"

"Who?" I asked, feeling the dark stirrings of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.

"Hunter and Dylan," she coughed out.

Before I had time to tell Nudge exactly how bad I thought this idea was, she said, "Moment of truth: I've sort of been seeing Hunter. On the sly."

I blinked. "What?"

"You should see his house. Bruce Wayne can't compete. His parents are either South American drug lords or come from serious old money. Since I haven't met them yet, I can't say which."

I was at a loss for words. My mouth opened and shut, but nothing came out. "When did this happen?" I finally managed to ask.

"Pretty much right after that fateful morning at Enzo's."

"Fateful? Nudge, you have no idea—"

"I hope they got here first and reserved a table," Nudge said, stretching her neck while eyeing the crowd accumulating around the doors. "I don't want to wait. I am seriously two thin minutes away from death by starvation."

I grabbed Nudge by her good elbow, pulling her aside. "There's something I need to tell you—"

"I know, I know," she said. "You think there's a slim chance Dylan attacked me Sunday night. Well, I think you've got Dylan confused with Fang. And after you do some sleuthing tonight, the facts will back me up. Believe me, I want to know who attacked me just as much as you. Probably even more. It's personal now. And while we're handing each other advice, here's mine. Stay away from Fang. Just to be safe."

"Nudge I can handle myself, remember? If he wants trouble, he'll get some," I sighed.

"Besides I found an article on-"

The doors to the Borderline opened. A fresh wave of heat, carrying the smell of limes and cilantro, swirled out at us, along with the sound of a mariachi band playing through the speakers.

"Welcome to the Borderline," a hostess greeted us. "Just the two of you tonight?"

Dylan was standing behind her inside the dimmed foyer. We saw each other at the same moment. His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. I narrowed my eyes at him and cracked my knuckles. Fear shone in his eyes for second, until he looked down. Yeah watch your back buddy…

He walked over to us. "Hello ladies," he greeted. "Looking magnificent, as always."

I rolled my eyes in response and gave him the finger when Nudge blushed and looked down.

"Where's your partner in crime?" Nudge asked, glancing around the foyer. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and a mural of a Mexican pueblo spanned two walls. The waiting benches were filled to capacity. There was no sign of Hunter.

"Bad news," said Dylan. "The man is sick. You're going to have to settle for me."

"Sick?" Nudge demanded. "How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?"

"Sick as in it's coming out both ends."

Nudge scrunched her nose. "Too much information."

I was still having a difficult time grasping the idea that something was going on between Nudge and Hunter

Hunter came across sullen, brooding, and completely disinterested in Nudge's company or anyone else's.

Not one part of me felt comfortable with the idea of Nudge spending time alone with Hunter. Not necessarily because of how unpleasant he was or how little I knew about him, but because of the one thing I did know: He was close friends with the walking dick.

The hostess plucked three menus out of a slotted cubbyhole and led us to a booth so close to the kitchen I could feel the fire of the ovens coming through the walls. To our left was the salsa bar. To our right glass doors moist with condensation led out to a patio.

"Is this good?" the hostess asked, gesturing at the booth.

"It's great," Dylan said, shrugging out of his bomber jacket. "I love this place. If the room doesn't make you sweat, the food will."

The hostess's smile lit up. "You've been here before. Can I start you with chips and our newest jalapeño salsa? It's our hottest yet."

"I like things hot," said Dylan.

I was pretty sure he was being slimy. I'd been way too generous in thinking he wasn't as low as Lissa.

The hostess swept him an appraising once over. "I'll be right back with chips and salsa. Your waitress will be here shortly to take your orders."

Nudge plopped into the booth first. I slid in beside her, and Dylan took the seat across from me. Our eyes connected, and there was a fleck of something dark in his. Very likely resentment. Maybe even hostility. I gave him my death glare, and clenched my jaw.

I wondered if he knew I'd seen the article.

"Purple is your color, Nora," he said, nodding at my highlights. I nodded gratefully, when I really wasn't.

Nudge nudged my foot. She actually thought he meant it as a compliment.

"So," I said to Dylan with an artificial smile, "why don't you tell us about Kinghorn Prep?"

"Yeah," Nudge chimed in. "Are there secret societies there? Like in the movies?"

"What's to tell?" Dylan said. "Great school. End of story." He picked up his menu and scanned it. "Anyone interested in an appetizer? My treat."

"If it's so great, why did you transfer?" I met his eyes and held them. Ever so slightly, I arched my eyebrows, challenging.

A muscle in Dylan's jaw jumped just before he cracked a smile. "The girls. I heard they were a lot finer around these parts. The rumor proved true." He winked at me, and I scoffed.

"How about Hunter? Why didn't he transfer as well?" frowned Nudge.

"Hunter's parents are obsessed with his education. Intense doesn't begin to cover it. I swear on my life, he's going all the way to the top. The guy can't be stopped. I mean, I confess, I do okay in school. Better than most. But nobody tops Hunter. He's an academic god."

The dreamy look returned to Nudge's eyes. "I've never met his parents," she said. "Both times I've gone over, they're either out of town or working."

"They work a lot," Dylan agreed, returning his eyes to the menu, making it hard for me to read anything in them.

"Where do they work?" I asked. Crossing my arms over my chest.

He took a long drink of his water. It seemed to me like he was buying time while he devised an answer. "Diamonds. They spend a lot of time in Africa and Australia."

"I didn't know Australia was big in the diamond business," I said.

"Yeah, neither did I," said Nudge.

In fact, I was pretty sure Australia had no diamonds. Period.

"Why are they living in Maine?" I asked. "Why not Africa?"

Dylan studied his menu more intensely. "What are you both having? I'm thinking the steak fajitas look good."

"If Hunter's parents are in the diamond business, I bet they know a lot about choosing the perfect engagement ring," Nudge said. "I've always wanted an emerald cut solitaire."

I smiled at Nudge. She is full of it sometimes…

Our waitress paused at the end of the table long enough to ask, "Anything to drink?"

Elliot looked over the top of his menu, first at me, then at Nudge.

"Diet Coke," Nudge said.

"Water with lime wedges, please," I said.

The waitress returned amazingly quickly with our drinks. Her return was my cue to leave the table and initiate step one of the Plan, and Nudge reminded me with a second under the table prod from her fork.

"Nudge," I said through my teeth, "would you like to accompany me to the ladies' room?" I suddenly didn't want to go through with the Plan. I didn't want to leave her alone with Dylan. What I did want was to drag her out, tell her about the murder investigation, then find some way to make both Dylan and Hunter disappear from our lives.

"Why don't you go alone?" said Nudge. "I think that would be a better plan." She jerked her head at the bar and mouthed Go, while making discreet shooing motions below the table.

"I was planning on going alone, but I'd really like you to join me."

"What is it with girls?" Dylan said, splitting a smile between us. "I swear, I've never known a girl who could go to the bathroom alone." He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. "Let me in on the secret. Seriously. I'll pay you five bucks each." He reached for his back pocket. "Ten, if I can come along and see what the big deal is."

Nudge flashed a grin. "Pervert. Don't forget these," she told me, stuffing a black grocery bag in my arms.

Dylan's eyebrows lifted. I fake laughed.

"None of your business, buddy boy," I said. I got up, my arms loaded with costume gear, and swallowed my burning frustration.

After I got to the restroom, I changed into a miniskirt, and the stiletto heels, a black tank top and did my hair in a bun so the purple highlights were more visible. I put on some really dark sunglasses and walked out.

Two minutes later I eased myself on top of a bar stool at the bar.

The bartender eyed me. "Sixteen?" he guessed. "Seventeen?"

He looked about ten years older than me and had receding brown hair that he wore shaved close. A silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. White T -shirt and Levi's. Not bad looking…not great, either.

"I'm not an underage drinker," I called loudly above the music and surrounding conversation. "I'm waiting for a friend. I've got a great view of the doors here." I retrieved the list of questions from my miniskirt back pocket and covertly positioned the paper under a glass salt shaker. I am so killing Nudge later.

"What's that?" the bartender asked, wiping his hands on a towel and nodding at the list.

I slid the list farther under the salt shaker. "Nothing," I said, all innocence.

He raised an eyebrow.

I decided to be loose with the truth. "It's a…shopping list. I have to pick up some groceries for my mom on the way home." What happened to flirting? I asked myself. What happened to Lissa?

He gave me a scrutinizing look that I decided wasn't all negative. "After working this job for five years, I'm pretty good at spotting liars."

"I'm not a liar," I said. "Maybe I was lying a moment ago, but it was just one lie. One little lie doesn't make a liar."

"You look like a reporter," he said.

"I work for my high school's eZine." I wanted to shake myself. Reporters didn't instill trust in people.

People were generally suspicious of reporters. "But I'm not working tonight," I amended quickly.

"Strictly pleasure tonight. No business. No underlying agendas. None whatsoever."

After a count of silence I decided the best move was to plow ahead. I cleared my throat and said, "Is the Borderline a popular place of employment for high school students?"

"We get a lot of those, yeah. Hostesses and busboys and the like."

"Really?" I said, feigning surprise. "Maybe I know some of them. Try me."

The bartender angled his eyes toward the ceiling and scratched the stubble on his chin. His blank stare wasn't inspiring my confidence. Not to mention that I didn't have a lot of time. Dylan could be slipping lethal drugs into Nudge's Diet Coke.

"How about Fang Walker?" I asked. "Does he work here?"

"Fang? Oh yeah he does. Some nights and some weekends too."

"Was he working Sunday night?" I tried not to sound too curious. But I needed to know if it was possible for Fang to have been at the pier. He said he had a party on the coast, but maybe his plans had changed. If someone verified that he was at work Sunday evening, I could rule out his involvement in the attack on Nudge.

"Sunday?" More scratching." The nights blur together. Try the hostesses. One of them will remember. They all giggle and go a little screwy when he's around." He smiled as if I might somehow sympathize with them.

I said, "You wouldn't happen to have access to his job application?" Including his home address.

"That would be a no."

"Just out of curiosity," I said, "do you know if it's possible to get hired here if you have a felony on your record?"

"A felony?" He gave a bark of laughter. "You kidding me?"

"Okay, maybe not a felony, but how about a misdemeanor?"

He spread his palms on the counter and leaned close. "No." His tone had shifted from humoring to insulted.

"That's good. That's really good to know." I repositioned myself on the bar stool, and felt the skin on my thighs peel away from the vinyl. I consulted my list.

"Do you know if Fang has ever had any restraining orders? Does he have a history of stalking?" I suspected the bartender was getting a bad vibe from me, and I decided to throw all my questions out in a last ditch effort before he sent me away from the bar—or worse, had me evicted from the restaurant for harassment and suspicious behavior. "Does he have a girlfriend?" I blurted. Oh hell…

"Go ask him," he said.

I blinked. "He's not working tonight."

At the bartender's grin, my stomach seemed to unravel.

"He's not working tonight…is he?" I asked, my voice inching up an octave. "He's supposed to have Tuesdays off!"

"Usually, yeah. But he's covering for Benji. Benji went to the hospital. Ruptured appendix."

"You mean to tell me that idiot is here right now?" I asked. I looked over my shoulder, scanning for him.

"He walked back to the kitchen a couple minutes ago."

I was already disengaging myself from the bar stool. "I think I left my car running. But it was great talking to you!" I hurried as quickly as I could to the restrooms.

I undid my hair and put away my sunglasses. I splashed some cold water on my face and took in deep breaths.

Secretive people didn't like their lives pried into. How would he react when he learned I was holding him under a magnifying glass?

And now I wondered why I'd come here at all, since deep inside, I didn't believe Fang was the guy behind the ski mask. Maybe he had dark, disturbing secrets, but running around in a ski mask wasn't one of them.

I turned off the tap, and when I looked up, Fang's face was reflected in the mirror. I jumped and swung around.

He wasn't smiling, and he didn't look particularly amused.

"What are you doing here?" I snarled. I put my walls back.

"I work here."

"I mean here. Can't you read? The sign on the door—"

"I'm starting to think you're following me. Every time I turn around, there you are."

"I wanted to take Nudge out," I explained. "She's been in the hospital." I sounded defensive. I was certain that only made me look more guilty. "I never dreamed I'd run into you. It's supposed to be your night off. And what are you talking about? Every time I turn around, there you are."

Fang's eyes were sharp, intimidating, extracting. They calculated my every word, my every movement.

"Purple highlights?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Nudge begged me to," I lied.

"Want to explain where you've been? You missed the last two days of school." I changed the conversation.

I was almost certain Fang wouldn't reveal his whereabouts, but he said, "Playing paintball. What were you doing at the bar?"

"Talking with the bartender. Is that a crime?" Balancing one hand against the counter, I raised my foot to unbuckle a heel. I bent over slightly, and as I did, the interrogation list fluttered out of my pocket and onto the floor.

I went down on my knees for it, but the ass was faster. He held it over his head while I jumped for it.

"Give it back!" I said.

" 'Does he have a restraining order against him?'" he read. " 'Is Fang a felon?'"

"Give—me—that!" I hissed furiously.

Fang gave a soft laugh, and I knew he'd seen the next question. " 'Does Fang have a girlfriend?' "

He put the paper in his back pocket. I was sorely tempted to go after it, despite its location. I did something unexpected. I slapped him. On the cheek. After a few minutes he recovered and rubbed his cheek. If I were wearing other clothes I would so beat him up.

He leaned back against the counter and leveled our eyes. "If you're going to dig around for information, I'd prefer that you ask me."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Those questions"—I waved where he'd hidden them—"were a joke. Nudge wrote them," I added in a flash of inspiration. "It's all her fault."

"I know your handwriting, Max."

I shrugged, hunting for a smart reply, but I took too long and lost my chance.

"No restraining orders," he said. "No felonies."

I tilted my chin up. "Girlfriend?" I told myself I didn't care how he answered. Either way was fine with me.

"That's none of your business."

"You tried to kiss me," I reminded him and shoved his chest. "You made it my business."

The ghost of a pirate smile lurked at his mouth. I got the impression he was recalling every last detail of that near kiss, including my sigh slash moan.

"Ex -girlfriend," he said after a moment.

My stomach dropped as a sudden thought popped into my mind. What if the girl from Delphic and Victoria's Secret was Fang's ex? What if she saw me talking to Fang at the arcade and— mistakenly—assumed there was a lot more to our relationship? If she was still attracted to Fang, it made sense that she might be jealous enough to follow me around. A few puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place…

And then Fang said, "But she's not around."

"What do you mean she's not around?"

"She's gone. She's never coming back."

"You mean…she's dead?" I asked.

He didn't deny it. I took a step back and glared at him. I hadn't expected this. Fang had a girlfriend, and now she was dead.

The door to the ladies' room rattled as someone tried to enter. I'd forgotten I'd locked it. Which made me wonder how Fang got in. Either he had a key, or there was another explanation. An explanation I probably didn't want to think about, such as gliding under the door like air. Like smoke.

"I need to get back to work," Fang said. He gave me a once over that lingered a bit below the hips.

"Killer skirt. Deadly legs." I rolled my eyes, but he didn't see. He left. I changed into my old clothes and threw the other ones in the trash. The older woman waiting for admittance looked at me, then over her shoulder at Fang, who was vanishing down the hall. "Honey," she told me, "he looks slippery as soap."

"Good description," I mumbled.

She fluffed her short, corkscrew gray hair. "A girl could lather up in soap like that."

I returned to the booth and slid in beside Nudge. Dylan checked his watch and lifted his eyebrows at me.

"Sorry I was gone so long," I said. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope," said Nudge. "Same old, same old." She bumped my knee, and the question was implied. Well?

Before I could return the bump, Dylan said, "You missed the waitress. I ordered you a red burrito." A creepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I saw my chance.

"Actually, I'm not sure I'm up to eating." I managed a nauseated face that wasn't altogether contrived.

"I think I caught what Hunter has."

"Oh, man," Nudge said. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head.

"I'll hunt down our waitress and get her to box the food," Nudge suggested, digging in her purse for keys.

"What about me?" said Dylan, sounding only half joking.

"Rain check?" Nudge said. I nodded in agreement and mouthed _Later, dumbass_, at him.

His eyes twitched. And we continued walking.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14:**

I got home before eight and after turning the key in the lock, it got stuck. I gave the door one of my Max-Kwon-Do kicks. I'd called my mom a few hours before dinner; she was at the office, tying up a few loose ends, not sure when she'd be home, and I expected to find the house quiet, dark, and cold.

I got inside, and then wrestled with the key still jammed in the lock. Ever since the night Fang came over, the lock had developed a greedy disposition. I wondered if Anne had noticed it earlier in the day.

The grandfather clock in the hall ticked on the hour, and eight loud dongs reverberated through the silence. I was walking into the living room to start a fire in the wood burning stove when there was the rustle of fabric and a low creak from across the room.

I got into a fighting position.

Then Mom walked in from the other room and saw my fighting stance and smiled.

"Oh Max Sweetie…You are so much like your dad," she whispered. I smiled at her and hugged her. How I miss him…My mom always calls me "Max Sweetie." I like the nick name, but she doesn't call me that when we're around people.

"I fell asleep. If I'd heard you come in, I would have said something." She pushed her hair off her face and blinked owlishly. "What time is it?"

I collapsed into the nearest armchair and tried to recover my normal heart rate. My imagination had conjured up a pair of ruthless eyes behind a ski mask. Now that I was positive he wasn't a figment of my imagination, I had an overwhelming desire to tell my mom everything, from the way he'd jumped on the Neon to his role as Nudge's attacker. He was stalking me, and he was violent. We'd get new locks on the doors. And it seemed logical that the police would get involved. I'd feel much safer at night with an officer parked on the curb.

"I was going to wait to bring this up," my mom said, interrupting my thought process, "but I'm not sure the perfect moment is ever going to present itself."

I frowned. "What's going on?"

She gave a long, troubled sigh. "I'm thinking about putting the farmhouse up for sale."

"What? Why?"

"We've been struggling for a year, and I'm not pulling in as much as I'd hoped. I've considered taking a second job, but honestly, I'm not sure there are enough hours in the day." She laughed without any trace of humor. "Anne's wages are modest, but it's extra money we don't have. The only other thing I can think of is moving into a smaller house. Or an apartment."

"But this is our house." All my memories were here. The memory of my dad was here. I couldn't believe she didn't feel the same way. I would do whatever it took to stay.

"I'll give it three more months," she said. "But I don't want to get your hopes up."

Right then I knew I couldn't tell my mom about the guy in the ski mask. She'd quit work tomorrow.

She'd get a local job, and there'd be absolutely no choice but to sell the farmhouse.

"Let's talk about something brighter," Mom said, pushing her mouth into a smile. "How was dinner?"

"Fine," I said morosely.

"And Nudge? How's she recovering?"

"She can go back to school tomorrow."

Mom smiled wryly. "It's a good thing she broke her left arm. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to take notes in class, and I can only imagine how disappointing that would have been for her."

"Ha, ha," I said. "I'm going to make hot chocolate." I stood and pointed over my shoulder into the kitchen. "Want some?"

"That actually sounds perfect. I'll start the fire."

After a quick trip to the kitchen to round up mugs, sugar, and the cocoa canister, I came back to find that Mom had a kettle of water on the wood burning stove. I perched myself on the arm of the sofa and handed her a mug.

"How did you know you were in love with Dad?" I asked, striving to sound casual. There was always the chance that discussing Dad would bring on a tear fest, something I hoped to avoid.

Mom settled into the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table. "I didn't. Not until we'd been married about a year."

It wasn't the answered I'd expected. "Then…why did you marry him?"

"Because I thought I was in love. And when you think you're in love, you're willing to stick it out and make it work until it is love."

"Were you scared?"

"To marry him?" She laughed. "That was the exciting part. Shopping for a gown, reserving the chapel, wearing my diamond solitaire."

I pictured Fang's mischievous smile. "Were you ever scared of Dad?"

"Whenever the New England Patriots lost."

Whenever the Patriots lost, my dad went to the garage and revved up his chainsaw. Two autumns ago he hauled the chain saw to the woods behind our property, felled ten trees, and diced them into firewood.

We still have more than half the pile to burn through.

Mom patted the sofa beside her, and I curled up against her, resting my head on her shoulder. "I miss him," I murmured.

"Me too."

"I'm afraid I'll forget what he looked like. Not in pictures, but hanging around on a Saturday morning in sweats, making scrambled eggs."

Mom laced her fingers through mine. "You've always been so much like him, right from the start."

"Really?" I sat up. "In what way?"

"He was a good student, very clever. He wasn't flashy or out spoken, but people respected him. And when I met him, he was a good fighter like you. Also fighting for what he believes in and not afraid to tell anyone about his opinion. Also his voice…oh when he sang to me. You got your singing talent from him. Every time I hear you sing, you remind me of him." I smiled and sniffed. I'll sing once in a while and mom and Nudge agree I should be in a band or something…

"Was Dad ever…mysterious?"

Mom seemed to turn this over in her mind. "Mysterious people have a lot of secrets. Your father was very open."

"Was he ever rebellious?"

She gave a short, startled laugh. "Did you see him that way? Harrison Grey, the world's most ethical accountant…rebellious?" She gave a theatrical gasp. "Do I dare ask what got us on this subject?"

I had no idea how to explain my conflicting feelings for Fang to my mom. I had no idea how to explain Fang, period. My mom was probably expecting a description that included his parents' names, his GPA, the varsity sports he played, and which colleges he planned on applying to. I didn't want to alarm her by saying I was willing to bet my piggy bank that Patch had a rap sheet. "There's this guy," I said, unable to hold back a smile at the thought of Fang. "We've been hanging out lately. Mostly school stuff."

"Ooh, a boy. My daughter has a crush on a guy? Finally!" she said. "Well? Is he in the Chess Club? Student Council? The tennis team?"

"He likes pool," I offered optimistically.

"A swimmer! Is he as cute as Michael Phelps? Of course, I always leaned toward Ryan Lochte when it came to appearances."

I thought about correcting my mom. On second thought, it was probably best not to clarify. Pool, swimming…close enough, right?

The phone rang and Mom stretched across the sofa to answer it. Ten seconds into the call she flopped back against the sofa and slapped a hand to her forehead. "No, it's not a problem. I'll run over, pick it up, and bring it by first thing tomorrow morning."

"Benny?" I asked after she hung up. Benny's my mom's boss, and to say he called all the time was putting it mildly. Once, he'd called her into work on a Sunday because he couldn't figure out how to operate the copy machine.

"He left some unfinished paperwork in the office and needs me to run over. I have to make copies, but I shouldn't be gone more than an hour. Have you finished your homework?"

"Not yet."

"Then I'll tell myself we couldn't have spent time together even if I was here." She sighed and rose to her feet. "See you in an hour?"

"Tell Benny he should pay you more."

She laughed. "A lot more."

As soon as I had the house to myself, I cleared the breakfast dishes off the kitchen table and made room for my textbooks. English, world history, biology. Arming myself with a brand new number two pencil, I flipped open the top book and went to work.

Fifteen minutes later my mind rebelled, refusing to digest another paragraph on European feudal systems. I wondered what Fang was doing after he got off work. Homework? Hard to believe. Eating pizza and watching basketball on TV? Maybe, but it didn't feel right. Placing bets and playing pool at Bo's Arcade? It seemed like a good guess.

I had the unexplainable desire to drive to Bo's and defend my earlier behavior, but the thought was quickly put into perspective by the simple fact that I didn't have time. My mom would be home in less time than it took to make the half hour drive there. Not to mention, Fang wasn't the kind of guy I could just go hunt down. In the past, our meetings had operated on his schedule, not mine. Always.

I climbed the stairs to change into something comfy. I pushed on my bedroom door and took three steps inside before stopping short. My dresser drawers were yanked out, clothes strewn across the floor. The bed was ripped apart. The closet doors were open, hanging askew by their hinges. Books and picture frames littered the floor.

I saw the reflection of movement in the window across the room and swung around. He stood against the wall behind me, dressed head to toe in black and wearing the ski mask. My brain was in a swirling fog, just beginning to transmit run! to my legs, when he lunged for the window, threw it open, and ducked lithely out.

That's it…no more being afraid. I ran after him. I ducked out and saw him run behind the house and to the woods. I followed, trying to make my legs run fast. Tree branches clawed at my clothes, making scratches on my skin…I didn't care. I lost sight of him and looked around. Then I heard a _click_. I turned and saw him. But he aimed a gun at me, his eyes shone with anger. My heart beated fast and I slowly stepped back, and I felt a rock under my shoe. I looked at it. I could pick it up and throw it at him. I did.

I bent down fast, and grabbed it. I flung it at his head. It hit his forehead, making him drop his gun and clutch his forehead. I knew I should've stepped up to him and discovered his identity, but he looked at me and got the gun.

I turned and ran, zig zag. I heard ski mask guy shoot. I looked behind me and just in time, I ducked and dodged a bullet. I ran and ran, until the back door of the house came to view. I sprinted toward it and flung it open, zipping inside. I pressed my ear to the door…no more gunshots. I tried to remain calm…Once my heart beat returned to normal, and checking the windows and door were locked I went to the kitchen, got the house phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Fifteen minutes later a patrol car bumped into the driveway. Shaking, I unbolted the door and let the two officers in. The first officer to step inside was short and thick waisted with salt and pepper hair.

The other was tall and lean with hair almost as dark as Fang's, but cropped above his ears. In a strange way, he vaguely resembled Fang. Mediterranean complexion, symmetrical face, eyes with an edge.

They introduced themselves; the dark haired officer was Detective Henry. His partner was Detective Holstijic.

"Are you Maximum Ride?" Detective Holstijic asked.

I nodded.

"Your parents home?"

"My mom left a few minutes before I called 911."

"So you're home alone?"

Another nod.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" he asked, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide, while Detective Henry walked a few paces inside the house and took a look around.

"I came home at eight and did some homework," I said. "When I went up to my bedroom, I saw him. Everything was a mess. He tore my room apart." I left out the detail of confronting him.

"Did you recognize him?"

"He was wearing a ski mask. And the lights were off."

"Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?"

"No."

"Height? Weight?"

I delved reluctantly into my short term memory. I didn't want to relive the moment, but it was important that I recall any clues. "Average weight, but a little on the tall side. About the same size as Detective Henry."

"Did he say anything?"

I shook my head.

Detective Basso reappeared and said, "All clear," to his partner. Then he climbed to the second floor.

The floorboards creaked overhead as he moved down the hall, opening and shutting doors.

Detective Holstijic cracked the front door and squatted to examine the deadbolt. "Was the door unlocked or damaged when you came home?"

"No. I used my key to get in. My mom was asleep in the living room."

Detective Henry appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Can you show us what's damaged?" he asked me.

Detective Holstijic and I climbed the stairs together, and I led the way down the hall to where Detective Henry stood just inside my bedroom door with his hands on his hips, surveying my room.

I held perfectly still, a tingle of fear creeping through me. My bed was made. My pajamas were in a heap on my pillow, just the way I'd left them this morning. My dresser drawers were shut, picture frames arranged neatly on top. The trunk at the foot of the bed was closed. The floors were clean. The window drapes hung in long, smooth panels, one on either side of the closed window.

"You said you saw the intruder," said Detective Henry. He was staring down at me with hard eyes that didn't miss a thing. Eyes that were expert at filtering lies.

I stepped inside the room, but it lacked the familiar touch of comfort and safety. There was an underlying note of violation and menace. I pointed across the room at the window, trying to hold my hand steady. "When I walked in, he jumped out the window."

Detective Henry glanced out the window. "Long way to the ground," he observed. He attempted to open the window. "Did you lock it after he left?"

"No. I ran downstairs and called 911." I lied.

"Somebody locked it." Detective Henry was still eyeing me with razor eyes, his mouth pressed in a tight line.

"Not sure anybody'd be able to get away after a jump like that," Detective Holstijic said, joining his partner at the window. "They'd be lucky to get off with a broken leg. Well you could get on the tree and climb down." Which is what I did, but rapidly.

"Maybe he didn't jump, maybe he climbed down the tree. And I just locked the windows right now," I said.

Detective Henry whipped his head around. "Well? Which is it? Did he climb or jump? He could have pushed past you and gone out the front door. That would be the logical option. That's what I'd have done. I'm going to ask once more. Think real careful. Did you really see someone in your room tonight?"

He didn't believe me. He thought I'd invented it. For a moment I was tempted to think similarly. What was wrong with me? Why was my reality convoluted? Why did the truth never match up? For the sake of my sanity, I told myself it wasn't me. It was him. The guy in the ski mask. He was doing this. I didn't know how, but he was to blame.

Detective Holstijic broke the tense silence by saying, "When will your parents be home?"

"I live with my mom. She had to make a quick trip to the office."

"We need to ask you both a few questions," he continued. He pointed for me to take a seat on my bed, but I shook my head numbly. "Have you recently broken up with a boyfriend?"

"No."

"How about drugs? Have you had a problem, now or in the past?"

"No."

"You mentioned that you live with your mom. How about Dad? Where's he?"

"This was a mistake," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called."

The two officers exchanged looks. Detective Holstijic shut his eyes and massaged the inner corners.

Detective Henry looked like he'd wasted enough time and was ready to blow it off.

"We've got things to do," he said. "Are you going to be all right here alone until your mom gets back?"

I hardly heard him; I couldn't pull my eyes off the window. How was he doing it? Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes to run back, find a way back inside and put the room in order before the police arrived. And with me downstairs the whole time. At the realization that we'd been alone in the house together, I shuddered.

Detective Holstijic extended his business card. "Could you have your mom call us when she gets in?"

"We'll see ourselves out," Detective Henry said. He was already halfway down the hall. I am officially mad…


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

"Okay, let me get this straight…You're saying Dylan murdered someone?" asked Nudge.

I nodded. I looked around to make sure no one listened.

"No offense, honey, but this is starting to get ridiculous. First he attacked me. Now he's a killer. I'm sorry, but Dylan? A murderer? He's, like, the nicest guy I've ever met. When was the last time he forgot to hold open a door for you? Oh, yeah, that's right…never."

Nudge and I were in biology, and Nudge was lying face-up on a table. We were running a lab on blood pressure, and Nudge was supposed to be resting silently for five minutes. Normally I would have worked with the asshole, but Coach had given us a free day, which meant we were free to choose our own partners.

Nudge and I were at the back of the room; Fang was working with a jock I-forgot-his-name at the front of the room.

"He was questioned in a murder investigation," I pointed out. I looked up and saw Coach's eyes glare at me. I stuck my tongue out and saw him turn back to his work. I scribbled a few notes on my lab sheet. Subject is calm and relaxed. Subject has refrained from speaking for three and a half minutes.

"Are you sure it was the same Dylan?" sighed Nudge.

"How many Dylan Taylors do you think there were at Kinghorn in February?"

Nudge strummed her fingers on her stomach. "It just seems really, really hard to believe. And anyway, so what if he was questioned? The important thing is, he was released. They didn't find him guilty."

"Because police found a suicide note written by Sunders."

"Who's Sunders again?"

"The girl who supposedly hanged herself."

"Maybe she did hang herself. I mean, what if one day she said, 'Hey, life sucks,' and strung herself to a tree? It has happened."

"You don't find it a little too coincidental that her apartment showed evidence of a break in when they discovered the suicide note?"

"She lived in Portland. Break ins happen."

"I think someone placed the note. Someone who wanted Dylan off the hook."

"Who would want Dylan off the hook?" Nudge asked.

I gave her my duh look.

Nudge propped herself up with her good elbow. "So you're saying Dylan hauled Miranda up a tree, tied a rope around her neck, pushed her off the limb, then did a breaking and entering job on her apartment and planted evidence pointing to a suicide."

"Why not?"

Nudge returned the duh look. "Because the cops already analyzed everything. If they're ruling it a suicide, so am I."

"How about this," I said. "Just weeks after Dylan was released from questioning, he transferred schools. Why would someone leave Kinghorn Prep to come to CHS?"

"You've got a point there."

"I think he's trying to escape his past. I think it became too uncomfortable attending school on the same campus where he killed Miranda. He has a guilty conscience." I smirked and tapped my pencil against my lip.

"I need to drive out to Kinghorn and ask questions. She just died two months ago; everyone will still be buzzing about it."

"I don't know, Max. I'm getting bad vibes about initiating a spy operation at Kinghorn. I mean, are you going to ask about Dylan specifically? What if he finds out? What's he going to think?"

I looked down at her.

"He only has something to worry about if he's guilty."

"And then he'll kill you to silence you." Nudge grinned like the Cheshire cat. I smirked. "I want to find out who attacked me just as much as you do," she continued on a more serious note, "but I swear on my life it wasn't Dylan. I've replayed the memory, like, a hundred times. It's not a match. Not even close. Trust me."

"Okay, maybe Dylan didn't attack you," I said, trying to appease Nudge but not about to clear Dylan's name. "He still has a lot going against him. He was involved in a murder investigation, for one. And he's almost too nice, for two. It's creepy. And he's friends with Hunter, for three."

Nudge frowned. "Hunter? What's wrong with him?"

"Don't you think it's odd that every time we're with them, Hunter bails?"

"Huh?"

"The night we went to Delphic, Hunter left almost immediately to use the bathroom. Did he ever come back? After I left to buy cotton candy, did Dylan find him?"

"No, but I chalked it up to internal plumbing issues."

"Then, last night, he mysteriously called in sick. He seems to get sick a lot."

"I think you're overanalyzing this. Maybe…maybe he has IBS."

"IBS?"

"Irritable bowel syndrome."

I discarded Nudge's suggestion in favor of mentally stretching for an idea that floated just out of reach.

Kinghorn Prep was easily an hour away by car. If the school was as academically rigorous as Dylan claimed, how did Hunter continually have time to make the drive to Coldwater to visit? I saw him nearly every morning on my way to school at Enzo's Bistro with Dylan. Plus, he gave Dylan a ride home after school. It was almost like Dylan had Hunter in the palm of his hand.

But that wasn't all of it. I scrubbed the eraser more furiously against my nose. What was I missing?

"Why would Dylan kill Miranda?" I wondered out loud. "Maybe she saw him do something illegal, and he killed her to silence her."

Nudge let go of a sigh. "This is starting to drift into the land of This Makes Absolutely No Sense."

"There's something else. Something we're not seeing."

Nudge looked at me like my logic was vacationing in outer space. "Personally, I think you're seeing too much. This feels a lot like a witch hunt."

And then all of a sudden I knew what I was missing. It had been nagging me all day, calling to me from the back of my mind, but I'd been too overwhelmed with everything else to pay attention. Detective Henry had asked me if anything was missing. It just now hit me that something was. I'd set the article about Dylan on top of my dresser last night. But this morning—I consulted my memory to be sure—it was gone. Definitely gone.

"Oh mi gosh," I said. "Dylan broke into my house last night. It was him! He stole the article." Since the article was in plain sight, it was obvious Dylan had torn apart my room to terrorize me—possibly as punishment for finding the article in the first place. He terrorizes me, I do much worse to him.

"Whoa, what?" Nudge said.

"What's wrong?" asked Coach, coming to a stop beside me. I kept my temper under control.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Nudge chimed in. She pointed and laughed at me from behind Coach's back.

"Um—the subject doesn't appear to have a pulse," I said, giving Nudge's wrist a hard pinch.

While Coach probed for Nudge's pulse, she made swooning motions and fanned herself. Coach flicked his eyes to mine, looking at me over the top of his glasses. "Right here, Max. Beating loud and strong. Are you sure the subject refrained from activity, including talking, for the full five minutes? This pulse isn't as slow as I would have expected."

"The subject struggled with the no talking step," Nudge interjected. "And the subject has a hard time relaxing on a rock hard biology table. The subject would like to propose switching places so Max can be the new subject." Nudge used her right hand to grab me and pull herself upright.

"Don't make me regret allowing you to choose your own partners," Coach told us.

"Don't make me regret coming to school today," I snarled.

Coach shot her a warning look, then picked up my lab sheet, eyes skimming the all but blank page.

"The subject equates biology labs with overdosing on prescription strength sedatives," Nudge said.

Coach chirped his whistle, and all eyes in the class swung our way.

"Fang?" he said. "Mind taking over here? We seem to have run into a partner problem."

"I was so kidding," Nudge said quickly. "Here—I'll do the lab."

"You should have thought of that fifteen minutes ago," Coach said.

"Please forgive me?" she asked, batting her eyelashes angelically.

Coach tucked her notebook under her good arm. "No."

_Sorry!_ Nudge mouthed over her shoulder at me as she walked reluctantly to the front of the room.

A moment later Fang took a seat on the table beside me. He clasped his hands loosely between his knees and kept a steady gaze on me.

"What?" I said, feeling unnerved by the weight of his stare.

He smiled. "I was remembering the skirt. Last night." He reached for a purple strand, but stopped midway when he saw 'my touch me and you'll regret being born' glare.

"How was your night?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral as I attempted to break the ice. My spying adventures still hung uncomfortably between us.

"Interesting. Yours?"

"Not so much."

"Homework was brutal, huh?"

He was making fun of me. "I didn't do homework."

He had the smile of a fox. "Who did you do?"

I was speechless a moment. I stood up from my chair and glared down at him. After a minute I sat back down. "Was that an innuendo?"

"Just curious what my competition is."

"Grow up."

His smile stretched. "Loosen up."

"I'm already walking on thin ice with Coach, so do me a favor and let's concentrate on the lab. I'm not in the mood to play test subject, so if you don't mind…" I looked pointedly at the table.

"Can't," he said. "I don't have a heart."

_Of course you don't_, I hissed in my mind.

I lowered myself down on the table and stacked my hands on my stomach. "Tell me when five minutes are up." I shut my eyes, preferring not to watch Fang's black eyes examine me.

A few minutes later I opened one eye a slit.

"Time's up," said Fang.

I held one upturned wrist out so he could take my pulse. Fang took my hand, and a jolt of heat shot up my arm and ended with a squeeze in my stomach.

"The subject's pulse increased on contact," he said.

"Write that and you'll be walking out of this class with a broken neck." But I wanted to smile.

"Coach wants us to be thorough."

"What do you want?" I asked him.

Fang's eyes connected with mine. On the inside, he was grinning. I could tell.

"Except, you know, that," I said.

After school I swung by Miss Dwyer's office for our scheduled appointment. At the end of the school day, Dr. H had always kept his door wide open, a nonverbal invitation for students to stop by.

Every time I passed down this stretch of hallway now, Miss Dwyer had the door closed. All the way.

The Do not disturb was implicit.

"Max," she said, opening the door after my knock, "please come in. Have a seat."

Her office was fully unpacked and decorated today. She'd brought in several more plants, and a panel of framed botanical prints hung in a row on the wall above her desk.

Miss Dwyer said, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last week. I came to the obvious conclusion that our relationship needs to be built on trust and respect. We won't discuss your dad again, unless you specify."

"Okay," I said warily. What were we going to talk about?

"I heard some rather disappointing news," she said. Her smile faded and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. She was holding a pen, and she rolled it between her palms. "I don't mean to pry into your private life, Max, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear concerning your involvement with Fang."

I wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. "I haven't tutored him." And, really, was it any of her business? I didn't care if this turned out ugly…

"Saturday night Fang gave you a ride home from Delphic Seaport. And you invited him inside your house."

I leaned back on my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah and?"

"Part of my job as your school psychologist is to give you guidance," Miss Dwyer said. "Please promise me you'll be very, very careful around him." She looked at me like she was actually waiting for my oath of promise.

"It's kind of complicated," I said. "My ride left me stranded at Delphic. I didn't have a choice. It's not like I seek out opportunities to spend time with Fang." Well, except for last night at the Borderline. In my defense, I honestly hadn't expected to see Fang. He was supposed to have the night off.

"I'm very glad to hear it," Miss Dwyer answered, but she didn't sound fully convinced of my innocence. "With that out of the way, is there anything else you'd like to talk about today? Anything weighing on your mind?"

I wasn't about to tell her that Dylan broke into my house. I didn't trust Miss Dwyer. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about her bothered me. And I didn't like the way she kept hinting that Fang was dangerous but wouldn't tell me why. It was almost like she had an agenda.

I hoisted my backpack off the ground and opened the door. "No," I said.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 16**

Nudge was leaning against my locker, doodling on her cast with a purple marker.

"Hi," she said when there was nothing of the hallway left between us. "Where've you been? I checked the eZine lab and the library."

"I had a meeting with Miss Dwyer, the new school psych." I said it very matter of factly, but on the inside, I had a hollow, trembly feeling. I couldn't stop thinking about Dylan breaking into my house.

What was stopping him from doing it again? Or from doing something worse?

"What happened?" Nudge asked.

I spun my locker combination and traded out books. "Do you know how much a good alarm system costs?"

"No offense, babe, but nobody's going to steal your car."

I pinned Nudge with a black look. "For my house. I want to make sure Dylan can't get inside again."

She grinned. "It's free…and she's standing in front of me." I smiled at her.

Nudge glanced around and cleared her throat.

"What?" I said.

Nudge did a hands up. "Nothing. Nothing at all. If you're still bent on nailing this to Dylan…that's your prerogative. It's a crazy prerogative, but hey, it's yours."

I shoved my locker door closed, and the rattle echoed down the hall. I bit back an accusatory response that she of all people should believe me and instead said, "I'm on my way to the library, and I'm sort of in a hurry." We exited the building and crossed the grounds to the parking lot, and I came up short. I looked around for the Fiat, but that's when I remembered my mom had dropped me off on her way to work this morning. And with Nudge's arm broken, she wasn't driving.

"Crap," Nudge said, reading my thoughts, "we're carless."

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I squinted down the street. "Guess this means we'll have to walk."

"Not we. You. I'd come with, but once a week is my library limit."

"You haven't been to the library this week," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but I might have to go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Thursday. In all your life, have you ever studied on a Thursday?"

Nudge tapped a fingernail to her lip and adopted a thoughtful expression. "Have I ever studied on a Wednesday?"

"Not that I recall."

"There you have it. I can't go. It would be anti -tradition."

Thirty minutes later, I hiked up the steps leading to the library's main doors. Once inside, I put homework on the back burner and went directly to the media lab, where I combed the Internet trying to find more information on the "Kinghorn Hanging." I didn't find much. Originally there had been a lot of hype, but after the suicide note was discovered and Dylan was released, the news moved on.

It was time to take a trip to Portland. I wasn't going to learn much more sifting through archived news articles, but maybe I'd have better luck doing legwork there.

I logged off and called my mom.

"Do I need to be home by nine tonight?"

"Yes, why?"

"I was thinking of taking a bus out to Portland."

She gave me one of her You must think I'm crazy laughs.

"I need to interview some students at Kinghorn Prep," I said. "It's for a project I've been researching."

It wasn't a lie. Not really. Of course, it would have been much easier to justify if I weren't burdened by the guilt of keeping the break- in and ensuing police visit from her. I'd thought about telling her, but every time I opened my mouth to say the words, they slipped away. We were struggling to survive. We needed my mom's income. If I told her about Dylan, she'd quit immediately.

"You can't go to the city alone. It's a school night and it will be dark soon. Besides, by the time you get there, the students will have left."

I heaved a sigh. "Okay, I'll be home soon."

"I know I promised you a ride, but I'm stuck at my office." I heard her shuffling papers in the background, and I imagined she had the phone cradled under her chin and the phone cord wrapped around her body several times. "Is it too much to ask you to walk?"

The weather was just this side of cool, I had my jean jacket, and I had two legs. I could walk.

I was almost through the library doors when I heard my name called. Turning around, I found Lissa closing the distance between us. I got my game face on.

"I heard about Nudge," she said. "It's really sad. I mean, who would attack her? Unless, you know, they couldn't help it."

"Gosh, it was nice talking to you, but I've got a lot of things I'd rather be doing. Like sticking my hand in the garbage disposal." I continued toward the exit.

"I hope she was attended nicely, not that nothing is wrong with her…only her skin color," Lissa said, keeping at my heels.

I spun around. "That's it. One more word, and I'll kick your ass, whore."

"Geek."

"Slut."

"At least I don't have a friend that isn't supposed to be alive."

That's it. I grabbed the collar of her shirt, and punched her square in the nose, I heard her bones crack. She fell on the floor, clutching her nose. I spit on her, before stalking out. The officer stopped me from walking out.

"Hurry out before I get you in trouble," he smiled. I know him. He knows me. We both hate Lissa. Then he left to attend Lissa. I smile and wiped away the blood on my hand. The librarian, shook her head at me.

I turned around and headed back into the library. At the elevators, I stepped into the metal cage and punched the button for the basement level. Unfortunately, the building didn't include a parking lot, so an underground tunnel had been dug to connect the library to the underground parking garage of the courthouse across the street. The garage now served both buildings.

The elevator clanked to a stop and I stepped off. The tunnel was lit with fluorescent lights that flickered pale purple. It took me a moment to force my feet to walk. I was struck by the sudden thought of my dad the night he was killed. I wondered if he'd been on a street as remote and dark as the tunnel ahead.

Pull it together, I told myself. It was a random act of violence. You've spent the last year paranoid about every dark alley, dark room, dark closet. You can't live the rest of your life terrified of having a gun pulled on you.

Determined to prove my fear was all in my head, I headed down the tunnel, hearing the soft tap of my shoes on concrete. Shifting my backpack to my left shoulder, I calculated how long it would take to walk home, and whether or not I was up for taking a shortcut across the railroad tracks now that it was dusk. I hoped that if I kept my thoughts upbeat and busy, I wouldn't have time to concentrate on my growing sense of alarm. My hands curled into fists.

The tunnel ended, and a dark form stood straight ahead.

I stopped midstride, and my heart dropped a few beats. Fang was wearing a black T -shirt, loose jeans, steel toed boots. His eyes looked like they didn't play by the rules. His smile was a little too cunning for comfort. My eyes turned into a death glare, and my jaw clenched.

"What are you doing here?" I snarled, pushing a handful of hair off my face and glancing past him to the car exit leading above ground. I knew it was straight ahead, but several of the overhead fluorescent lights were out of service, making it difficult to see clearly. If rape, murder, or any other miscreant activities were on Fang's mind, he'd cornered me in the perfect place. Then again, I wasn't ordinary. I can fight.

As Fang moved toward me, I stayed put. I noticed there was a car behind me, so I walked backwards and stood behind it. If he tried to attack me, then I could fight him and push him down on it, trapping him.

He didn't know that, so he lifted eyebrows.

"I have questions," I said in deadly calm. "A lot of them."

"About?"

"About everything."

His mouth twitched, and I was pretty sure he was fighting a smile. "And if my answers don't make the cut, you're going to make a break for it?" He gave a nod in the direction of the garage's exit.

Nope. Does this guy know me at all?

"Let's hear those questions," he said.

"How did you know I'd be at the library tonight?"

"Didn't have to guess. I bet everyone at school knows you spend most of your days there." Sometimes I do, but not most of them.

"Where were you Sunday afternoon?" I asked. "Did you follow me when I was forced shopping with Nudge?"

He may not have been the guy in the ski mask, but that didn't mean he hadn't been involved in the chain of recent disturbing events. He was keeping something from me. He'd been keeping something from me since the day we met. Was it a coincidence that the last normal day in my life had been right before that fateful day? I didn't think so.

"No. How did that go, by the way? Buy anything?"

I crossed my arms over my chest in response. He smirked.

"Well?" I demanded. "Do you have anything to say?"

"No."

"You have no idea what happened to Nudge?"

"Again, no."

"I don't believe you."

"That's because you have trust issues." He splayed both hands on the car, leaning across the hood. "We've been over this."

I felt my temper spark. Fang had flipped the conversation again. Instead of shining on him, the spotlight was directed back on me. I especially didn't like being reminded that he knew all sorts of things about me. Private things. Like my trust issues.

He lunged to the right, trying to stand close to me, but I lunged to my side, where we stood facing from each other again, my back facing the exit. I smirked mentally.

"What happened on the Archangel? Did you save me?" I asked.

"If I'd saved you, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation."

"You mean if you hadn't saved me we wouldn't be here. I'd be dead."

"That's not what I said."

I had no idea what he meant. "Why wouldn't we be standing here?"

"You'd still be here." He hesitated. "I probably wouldn't."

Before I could figure out what he was talking about, he darted for me again, this time attacking from the right. Momentarily confused, I gave up some of the distance between us. Instead of stopping, Fang skirted around the car. I made a break for it, running down the straightaway of the garage.

I made it three cars before he caught hold of my arm. He spun me around and backed me against a cement beam.

"So much for talking without running away," he said.

I glared at him. If he walked a few more steps then he would get it. He flashed a grin brimming with dark intent, confirming that I had every reason to sweat freely.

"What's going on?" I said. "How come I swear I can hear your voice in my head? And why did you say you came to school for me?"

"I was tired of admiring your legs from a distance." Just a bit more…

"I want the truth." I swallowed hard. "I deserve full disclosure."

"Full disclosure," he repeated with a sly grin. "Does this have anything to do with the promise you made to expose me? What exactly are we talking about here?"

I couldn't remember what we were talking about. All I knew was that Fang's gaze felt especially hot. I had to break eye contact, so I trained my eyes on my hands. They were in tight fists, and I slid them behind my back.

"I have to go," I said. "I have homework." I lied. I finished it earlier.

"What happened in there?" He tilted his chin back at the elevators.

"Nothing."

Before I could stop him, he had my palm pressed to his and laced his fingers through mine. "Your knuckles are white," he said, planting a kiss on them. I blushed, and ignored my stupid beating heart. "And you came out looking worked up."

"Let go. And I'm not worked up. Not real—"

"Max." Fang spoke my name softly.

"I fought with Lissa," I said, equally softly. But I didn't know where the confession came from.

"Lissa?"

"You don't know who she is? Seriously, she makes every damn guy know who she is and is a whore."

"Tell me about the fight," he smiled.

"She was being racist with my best friend," I responded.

"And?"

"And what do you care? I just punched her, probably breaking her nose…"

"That's it? I expected you to kick her ass."

"I almost did…if we weren't at the library." He laughed softly, sending shivers throughout my whole body.

"Funny. I thought when you beat up people you did it in front of a crowd…"

"It's the library…" If it did turn out into a major fight, then I wouldn't be able to come back to the library for a while and I love the library.

"Show me some of your moves," he said, pulling away and standing in front of me his arms wide open. I smiled and punched his jaw. He stumbled back and gripped it. I gave a round house kick to his side, but he caught my leg. I froze.

Fang gripped my waist and slid his hand upward, gripping my thigh. My heart began racing.

"Mmm." It came out from the bottom of his throat. Fang gripped my hip and leaned in, still gripping my thigh. Instead of kissing me, he slanted his head sideways and kissed my neck once…before pulling away. He still hadn't moved his hands, and I don't think he would. Not that it bothered me. I blushed and he kissed my forehead.

"Let me give you a ride," he whispered. Then he pulled away his hands, but caught my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine and pulling me along with him. I stopped.

"I'll walk," I said, pulling my hand away.

"It's dark and late," he said. Damn it. He had a point. He extended his hand once again. I smiled and took it. He pulled me to him, and wrapped and arm around my waist pulling me along with him. We walked toward his motorcycle.

He swung his leg over the motorcycle, and I did the same, then wrapped my arms around his waist. He sped away, then a ten minutes later…we reached my house. He swung off, then I did.

"Thanks for the ride," I said.

"You busy Saturday night?" he asked.

"I have a date."

He made questioning sound at the bottom of his throat. "With?"

"Homework." We both laughed.

"Take a Raincheck."

I was feeling a lot more relaxed. Fang was warm and solid, and he smelled fantastic. Like mint and rich, dark earth. Nobody had jumped out at us on the ride home, and all the windows on the lower level of the farmhouse glowed with light. For the first time all day I felt safe.

Except that Patch had cornered me in a dark tunnel and was possibly stalking me. Maybe not so safe.

"I don't go out with strangers," I said.

"Good thing I do. I'll pick you up at five." Before he left, I gripped the collar of his shirt and kissed him on the cheek, before heading inside, biting my lip to keep from smiling. I went inside, closed the door and looked through the peep hole. His hand went up to his cheek where I kissed him. Fang smiled and left.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

It's Saturday, it's been raining all day and it's freezing. I'm sitting on my bed, reading Hamlet…but I haven't changed the page for a while now. Mom was at yoga class…and I didn't tell her about Fang and my date with him.

I've been doing homework all day, but chores as well. I closed the book and put it on my book shelf. I looked over at my clock, by the nightstand. Four thirty. Whether or not I wanted to think about it, Fang and I had unfinished business. Our last kiss got cut short. Sooner or later, the kiss would need resolving. I had no doubt I wanted resolution, I just wasn't sure I was ready for it tonight. On top of all this, it didn't help that Nudge's warning kept popping up like a red flag at the back of my mind. Stay away from Fang.

It's just a date right? Maybe if this goes well, then he'll stop being a creep. I changed into grey jeans, black boots, a black shirt and a black jacket. Before I knew what I was doing, I was curling the ends of my hair. I stopped when I caught a purple strand. Fang tried to tuck it behind my ear the other day…what would've happened if I let him?

I heard a knock coming from the door downstairs. I ran down to it. I stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath before opening it. Two men in dark trench coats stood there. Detective Henry and Detective Holstijic. Great.

"Maximum Ride. We meet again," he gave me a tight smile. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Yes?"

"You don't mind if we ask you a few questions right?" asked his partner.

"What's wrong?" I frowned.

"Is your mother home?"

"She's at yoga. Why?"

They stepped inside and sat down on the couch.

"What happened with you and Lissa at the library Wednesday evening?" Oh so this is what it's about…

"She okay?" I responded coolly.

"What makes you think she isn't okay?"

"What were the two of you arguing about?" Detective Holstijic asked. "Librarian told us things were getting heated."

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

"We called each other a few names," I said, hoping we could leave it at that.

"What kind of names?"

"Stupid names," I said in retrospect.

"I'm going to need to hear those names, Max."

"I called her a slut."

The detectives exchanged a look.

"Did you threaten her?" asked Detective Holstijic.

"No."

"Where did you go after the library?"

"Home."

"Did you follow Lissa?" I scoffed.

"Sir I had more important things to do than follow her," I said.

"Like?"

"Homework," I lied. "Are you going to tell me what happened to Marcie?"

"Can anyone vouch for that?" Detective Henry asked.

"My biology partner. He saw me at the library and offered me a ride."

I had a shoulder propped against one side of the French doors leading into the room, and Detective Holstijic walked over and took up a post on the opposite side, across from me. "Let's hear about this biology partner."

"What kind of question is that?"

He spread his hands. "It's a pretty basic question. But if you want me to get more specific, I can. When I was in high school, I only offered rides to girls I was interested in. Let's carry that a step further. What's your relationship with your bio partner…outside the classroom?"

"You're joking, right?"

One side of Detective Henry's mouth hitched up. "That's what I thought. Did you have your boyfriend beat up Lissa?"

"Lissa was beat up?"

He pushed up from the doorway and positioned himself directly in front of me, sharp eyes boring into me. "Did you want to show her what happens when girls like her don't keep their mouths shut? Did you think she deserved to get a little roughed up? I knew girls like Lissa when I went to school. They ask for it, don't they? Was Lissa asking for it, Max? Someone beat her up pretty bad Wednesday night, and I think you know more than you're saying."

"Listen pal, I could've beat her up if I wanted to. I don't have a boyfriend. Besides…I said I came home and did homework, sir."

"We're going to need to talk to your boyfriend," Detective Holstijic said.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my biology partner."

"Is he on his way here now?"

Lissa wasn't the nicest person, and she'd acquired more than a handful of enemies. A few of those enemies might be capable of brutality, but Fang wasn't one of them. Senseless beating wasn't his style. I don't even know if he can fight, for petesakes!

"No," I said.

Detective Henry gave a stiff smile. "All dressed up for a Saturday night in?"

"Something like that," I said in the coldest tone I have.

Detective Holstijic pulled a small notepad out of his coat pocket, flipped it open, and clicked his pen.

"We're going to need his name and number."

Ten minutes after the detectives left, a black Jeep Commander rolled to the curb. Fang jogged through the rain to the porch, wearing dark jeans, boots, and a thermal gray T shirt.

"New car?" I asked after I opened the door.

He gave me a mysterious smile. "I won it a couple nights ago off a game of pool." I smiled back.

"Did you hear about Lissa?" I asked.

"No what happened?"

"She got beat up."

Fang looked at me accusingly with an evil grin.

"It wasn't me," I said.

"A shame."

"Don't suspect anyone who did it?"

"Nope." Such a man of many words.

I asked myself if I thought he was hiding something.

Fang parked the Jeep behind Bo's Arcade. When we got to the front of the line, the cashier laid eyes first on Fang, then on me. I glared at him when he looked at me up and down.

"She okay?" he asked in a deep voice.

"Yeah. It's her nature being feisty," responded Fang. I stiffened when he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. Fang led me away and I stomped on his foot, making him wince and release me. I followed him downstairs.

Downstairs, the pool hall looked exactly like it had the first night I'd come. Cinder block walls painted black. Red felt pool tables at the center of the room. Poker tables scattered around the fringe. Low track lighting curving across the ceiling. The congested smell of cigar smoke clogging the air.

Fang chose the table farthest from the stairs. He retrieved two 7UPs from the bar and popped their caps on the edge of the counter.

"I've never played pool before," I confessed.

"Choose a cue." He motioned to the rack of pool sticks mounted on the wall. I lifted one down and carried it back to the pool table. Then he moved behind me, placing his hands on my hips. My hands curled to fists and I stiffened. His mouth was against my ear.

"Easy," he murmured. I relaxed.

He slid his arms around me and took hold of the pool stick.

"Like this," he said, repositioning my right hand up several inches. "And…this," he went on, taking my left hand and forming a circle with my thumb and index finger. Then he planted my left hand on the pool table, like a tripod. He pushed the tip of the pool stick through the circle and over the knuckle of my middle finger. "Bend at the waist."

I did. I leaned into the pool table, with Fang's breath warming my neck. He pulled back on the pool stick, and it glided through the circle. He guided the stick to hit a triangle formed of different color balls on the opposite side. Then he released his hands on the stick and I felt his hands take off my jacket, after it was off his hands stroked my arms, going up and down. Then, he guided my hair to my right shoulder. I felt Fang's lips on my neck, nuzzling it. He groaned softly and gripped my hips.

My heart began to beat faster as he planted kisses on my neck. I gasped when he hit a sensitive spot on my shoulder. Fang's hands moved to my stomach, where he curled my shirt in his fist and pushed it up, revealing my stomach. Fang stroked it. I was in heaven. I was under his spell when reality came back to me.

I pulled away and sighed.

"Stop," I whispered. He did. He pulled his arms away and removed his lips from my neck after he kissed my pulse point once.

"Yo Fang!" shouted a voice from the door. He turned. A guy with brown hair, tall, wearing a blue shirt, jeans, boots and a black leather jacket appeared. The dude stood in front of Fang, but smiled when he saw me.

"Who's your friend?" he asked.

"Sam, this is my date, Max," said Fang.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, winking. I rolled my eyes.

"Say if you get tired of him, maybe you and I…" he caught my hand. I stepped forward and need him in the groin.

"Shit," he breathed.

"Careful. She doesn't get along with guys who make a move on her," warned Fang.

"Is this the person who beat your ass a few weeks ago?" said Sam, after he came upright. I raised my eyebrows at Fang, who nodded at Sam.

"I thought Max was a guy," he said.

"She fights like one," smirked Fang.

"So I've noticed," he said.

Suddenly Sam lunged playfully at Fang, and the two dropped to the floor, rolling and throwing punches. There was the sound of husky laughter, fists laying into flesh, and fabric tearing, and Fang's bare back came into view. Two thick gashes ran the length of it. They started near his kidneys and ended at his shoulder blades, widening to form an upside down V. The gashes were so grotesque, my eyes widened. I've seen weird scars on people...but this...I mean did a person just grab a knife and just stab it and run it down his back? No, they look straight.

"Get off me you idiot!" shouted Sam. Fang swung off him, and as he got to his feet, his torn shirt fluttered open. He sloughed it off and tossed it into the trash can in the corner. "Give me your shirt," he told Sam. Now I know Fang is a fighter.

Sam directed a wicked wink at me. "What do you think, Max? Should we give him a shirt?"

Fang made a playful lunge forward, and Sam's hands flew up to his shoulders.

"Easy now," he said, backing up. He peeled off his blue shirt and tossed it at Fang, revealing a fitted white tee underneath.

As Fang rolled the shirt down over abs hard enough to put a flutter in my stomach, Sam turned to me, smiling. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Fang held out a hand and I took it, pulling me towards him. I came face to face with his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me.

"Let's get out of here," he said, pulling away and leading me toward the stairs.

"She's a keeper Fangles!" shouted Sam from below. I laughed.

"Fangles?" I asked. Fang smiled down at me and shrugged.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

"You'll see," he said. Okay then…


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 18

It still rained hard as Fang drove me home. Then he had to stop for gas. He had to go inside, to pay, since the machine isn't working. I looked behind me and I noticed a flashlight with red liquid. _Blood_, I thought. But I ran my fingers through the dry liquid, I noticed it left a red mark on my finger. Not something dry blood would do…but paint. I shined my phone flashlight on it and saw it was paint. I sighed in relief.

I saw Fang coming out of the building, pump was into the car, and slide into the driver's seat once again.

"You okay?" he asked. My head was resting against the headrest, tipped back, with eyes closed.

"Yeah, just stressed…"

"Wanna tell me about it?" he asked, sincerely. I looked over a him, and smiled. Tell or not tell? I don't think I can tell him about the events that have been haunting my mind…

"Just home issues…" I whispered. His hand came up and stroked my cheek. I looked into his midnight black eyes and saw them soften.

"Like?"

"My mom's never home…" I said.

"You have a housekeeper don't you?" he whispered.

"It's not the same, though. She's too busy…but I know she wants to keep the farm house." He nodded. It felt good to tell someone this. I tell Nudge a million times, and she says I'm welcome to her house, telling me her mom could adopt me. Then she hugs me, telling me she's there for me.

"But I have Nudge," I smiled.

"Is that her real name? Nudge?" he chuckled.

"It's Monique, but she talks so much you have to nudge her to shut up," we both laughed.

"I should get home," I said, after looking at the time on my phone.

"Yeah…But you know…I'm here too," he said. I looked over at him and saw him give me a hopeful expression. I cupped my hand behind his neck, and leaned in…But my phone chimed, a text from mom asking where I was. I cleared my throat and looked down.

"Damn distractions," Fang muttered under his breath. I giggled and leaned my head toward the window. I closed my eyes until we reached my house.

I opened my eyes and found mom walking toward the jeep.

"Shit," I hissed.

"Don't talk. Not one word," I said. Fang got out and opened my door. We met my mother before she made it down the driveway.

"You didn't tell me you were going out," she said giving me a tight smile.

"It was last minute," I said.

"Who's this?" asked mom.

"This is Fang," I indicated.

"I'm Valencia, Max's mother," she told him. They shook hands. I cleared my throat.

"Where did you two go?" asked mom.

"It's getting late," I said loudly.

"I took her to eat dinner," lied Fang. I smiled at him gratefully.

"That's nice. Would you like to come inside?" asked mom.

"Sorry Valencia, I have a few errands to run. Maybe next time," said Fang.

"Well have a good night," smiled mom.

"You too…bye," he whispered the last part.

"Bye," I whispered back. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, before leaving. My eyes widened a bit and I smiled. I blushed after he winked, as he got inside the Jeep.

"I'm glad he didn't seem harmless like you think boys usually are," said mom after we got inside. I smiled at her, but thought, _If you only knew_.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19**

After mom and I talked about my date, she kissed my forehead goodnight and I was dismissed. I went inside my room, changed into grey sweats and a black long sleeve shirt. I couldn't get Fang's comment.

_I'm here too… _

It echoed in my head, and I smiled. Maybe…he's not bad at all. I can't get him out of my head.

After ten minutes or so of thinking of Fang, I called Nudge.

"How was it?" she squealed before I could open my mouth.

"Gee are okay? Or how about a 'hello'?" I said sarcastically.

"Quit interrupting and talk," she demanded. I could hear her jumping up and down in desperation.

"He took me out and-" she interrupted me.

"Well no duh, Sherlock! Details darling, I need details," she said in a british accent. I laughed.

"He took me out to go play pool," I said.

"I thought you hated it," she said.

"He gave me a few pointers…and it's not so bad," I bit my lip.

"I bet he could give you a few pointers somewhere else, eh? Am I right?" I could hear the slyness in her voice. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. Usually I would give her a comeback…but I'm serious right now.

"I know I've said this before, but Fang doesn't instill a deep sense of comfort in me," Nudge said. "I still have nightmares about the guy in the ski mask. In one of my nightmares, he ripped off his mask, and guess who was hiding under it? Fang. Personally, I think you should treat him like a loaded gun. Honey, he ain't normal."

"I think I know that, Nudge," I sighed.

"Do you how a V shaped scar is, you know, created?" I asked. She screamed.

"You did _it_?" she choked.

"NO!" I shouted.

"Then how?"

"It was accident. Anyways, he had a huge, upside down scar on his back!" I hissed. I heard her suck in a breath.

"Nudge? You okay?" I asked.

"Uh huh. Just shocked. And the scars were probably from gang fights, prison scars or something else," she said. I sighed. She's probably right. But something wasn't right.

One half of my brain was keeping track of my conversation with Nudge, but the other, more subconscious half had strayed. My memory went back to the night Fang dared me to ride the Archangel. I recaptured the creepy and bizarre paintings on the side of the cars. I remembered the horned beasts ripping the wings off the angel. I remembered the black upside down V where the angel's wings used to be.

I almost dropped the phone. Holy shit.

"MAXIMUM RIDE!" I heard Nudge shout. After I got my voice back, I answered.

"Huh? Sorry I spaced out," I said.

"Yeesh, girl! WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!" she shouted.

"He got in a fight with his friend and his shirt ripped. Happy now?" I asked.

"What type of guy gets in a fight when he's out with a girl?!" shrieked Nudge. I burst out laughing.

"Nudge I get in fights all the time and in front of teachers. I once got in a fight in front of my mother!" I laughed. She laughed. But then we got in a serious my mind I switched back and forth between the painting of the angel's scars and Fang's scars. Both scars had healed to the color of black licorice, both ran from the shoulder blades to the kidneys. I told myself there was a good chance it was merely a very creepy coincidence that the paintings on the Archangel depicted Fang's scars perfectly. I told myself a lot of things could cause scars like Fang's. Gang fight, prison scars, maybe even skid marks. Unfortunately, all the excuses felt like lies. Like the truth was staring me in the face, but I wasn't brave enough to look back.

"Was he an angel?" Nudge asked.

I snapped to myself. "Nudge I gotta go." I hung up. I got my pre owned Dell black laptop and switched it on. I clicked on the Google Icon on the task bar.

I typed "angel wing scars" and pressed enter. I'd have to admit I was actually considering the possibility that Fang was—well, not…human. I clicked on the first link.

**FALLEN ANGELS: THE FRIGHTENING TRUTH**

**At the creation of the garden of Eden, heavenly angels were dispatched to Earth to watch over Adam and Eve. Soon, however, some angels set their sights on the world beyond the garden walls. They saw themselves as future rulers over the Earth's population, lusting after power, money, and even human women.**

**Together they tempted and convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, opening the gates guarding Eden.**

**As punishment for this grave sin and for deserting their duties, god stripped the angels' wings and banished them to Earth forever.**

I skimmed down paragraphs, holding my breath.

**Fallen angels are the same evil spirits (or demons) described in the Bible as taking possession of human bodies. Fallen angels roam the Earth looking for human bodies to harass and control. They tempt humans to do evil by communicating thoughts and images directly to their minds. if a fallen angel succeeds in turning a human toward evil, it can enter the human's body and influence his or her personality and actions.**

**However, the possession of a human body by a fallen angel can take place only during the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. Cheshvan, known as "the bitter month," is the only month without any Jewish holidays or fasts, making it an unholy month. Between new and full moons during Cheshvan, fallen angels invade human bodies in droves.**

My stare lingered on the computer monitor a few minutes after I finished reading. I had no thoughts.

**None. Just a complexity of emotions tangling inside me. Cold, panicky amazement and foreboding among them.**

**An involuntary shudder roused me to my senses. I remembered the few times I was certain Patch had breached normal communication methods and whispered directly to my mind, just like the article claimed fallen angels could. Comparing this information with Patch's scars, was it possible … could Patch be a fallen angel? Did he want to possess my body?**

I browsed quickly through the rest of the article, slowing when I read something even more bizarre.

**Fallen angels who have a sexual relationship with a human produce superhuman offspring called nephilim. The nephilim race is an evil and unnatural race and was never meant to inhabit Earth.**

**Although many believe the great Flood at the time of noah was intended to cleanse the Earth of nephilim, we have no way of knowing if this hybrid race died out and whether or not fallen angels have continued to reproduce with humans since that time. it seems logical that they would, which means the nephilim race is likely on the Earth today.**

I logged off and shut down the computer. I put my laptop under my bed and slid under the covers. I threw on an extra blanket to ward off the sudden chill. Whether the room was cold, or the icy feeling originated inside me, I wasn't sure.

The hell did I just read? Haunting words like "fallen angel," "human possession," and "Nephilim" danced me off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 20**

I tossed all night. The wind gusted through the open fields rimming the farmhouse, spraying debris against the windows. I woke several times, hearing shingles being pulled from the roof and tumbling over the edge. Every small noise from the rattle of the windowpanes to my own creaking bedsprings had me jumping out of sleep.

Around six I gave up, dragged myself out of bed, and padded down the hall for a hot shower. Next I cleaned my room—my closet was looking slim, and sure enough, I filled the hamper with three loads of laundry. I was climbing the stairs with a fresh load when a knock sounded at the front door. I opened it to find Dylan standing on the doorstep.

He wore jeans, a vintage plaid shirt rolled to the elbows, sunglasses, and a Red Sox cap. On the outside, he looked all American. But I knew better.

"Maximum Ride," Dylan said in a patronizing voice. He leaned in and grinned, and I caught the sour tang of alcohol on his breath. "You've been causing me a lot of trouble lately."

"I cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people," I said in a calm voice. "What are you doing here, scumbag."

He peered behind me into the house. "What's it look like I'm doing? I want to talk. Don't I get to come in?"

"My mom's asleep. I don't want to wake her."

"You don't like me, do you, Maxie?" Something inside me snapped. My anger was rising. NO ONE CALLS ME THAT. Only dad could call me that.

"No I do not," I sneered.

"Ouch." Dylan pressed a hand on his chest.

"Dylan, if you know what's good for you-" he interrupted me. Hell no.

He drilled his fist into the house, smacking his knuckles against the siding hard enough to shake loose chipped paint. "I'm not finished!" he slurred in a heated voice. Suddenly he tipped his head back and laughed quietly. He bent over and placed his bleeding hand between his knees and groaned. "Ten dollars says I'm going to regret that later."

Seriously? Dylan took off his sunglasses, and looked at me with what appeared a death glare. I snorted. I gave him my death glare, making him flinch. That's how you do it, buddy.

"I came here because I wanted to tell you Hunter is under a lot of stress at school. Exams, student government, scholarship applications, yadda, yadda, yadda. He's not acting like himself. He needs to get away from it all for a few days. The four of us—Hunter, me, you, Nudge—should go camping for spring break. Leave tomorrow for Powder Horn and come back Tuesday afternoon. It'll give Hunter a chance to decompress." Every word that came out of his mouth sounded eerily and carefully rehearsed.

"No thank you," I hissed.

Dylan leaned his hand on the doorjamb, bending toward me. "Wrong answer." For a fleeting moment, the glassy stupor in his eyes disappeared, something twisted and sinister eclipsing it. I involuntarily stepped back. I was almost positive Dylan had it in him to kill. I was almost positive his ex's death was on his hands.

"Leave, or I'll kick your drunk ass," I said.

Dylan flung the screen door open so hard it smacked back against the house. He grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me outside. Then he shoved me back against the siding and pinned me there with his body. "You're coming camping whether you want to or not." I cracked my knuckles. Don't you just love kicking someone's ass in the morning. I punched him with all my might in the stomach.

He groaned, and fell back, tripping on the porch steps and falling to the ground. I ran down the steps and jumped on his chest. I punched his face multiple times, before standing up and giving him a few kicks.

"I've been wanting to do this for a while," I said, raising my fist up.

"Max!" gasped mom, from the door.

"Before I get in trouble, this is a guy from school who asked to me to kick his ass," I snarled. Dylan had trouble standing up, but he wiped blood oozing from his nose and spit blood out.

"Leave if you know what's good for you!" I hissed. I took a step forward, making him tremble and back away. I dusted my pants off and whirled around to face mom, who had her hand pressed to her heart.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Mom he cheated off my test and said I cheated of him. You know how I deal with guys who do things like that," I said. She smiled at me and wrapped her arms around me.

"Come on. Let me make you breakfast," she said.

"With chocolate chip cookies," I suggested. She laughed.

"Honey, I'll make some before I leave and they'll be all yours," she said. I smiled and nodded. Mom was going to a wedding for a friend from work. Guess what I'm doing? Going to Portland to investigate more on Dylan.

While mom made breakfast, I heard my phone ringing from upstairs. I ran up the stairs and picked it up.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Pack your bags, we're going camping for spring break!" squealed Nudge.

"Dylan's planning something. Something weird. The only reason he wants to go camping is so he can get us alone. We're not going."

"What do you mean we're not going? This is a joke, right? I mean, we finally get to do something exciting over spring break, and you're saying no? You know my mom will never let me go alone. I'll do anything. Seriously. I'll do your homework for a week. Come on, Max. One little word. Say it. It starts with the letter Y…"

"Dylan showed up at my house fifteen minutes ago, drunk. He—he physically threatened me."

She was quiet a moment. "What do you mean by 'physically threatened'?"

"He dragged me out the front door and shoved me against the house."

"But he was drunk, right?"

"Does it matter?" I snapped.

"What'd you do?" she asked. I smirked.

"I kicked his wasted ass." I heard Nudge sigh in relief.

"He was wasted. Maybe—maybe he didn't know what he was doing. Tomorrow he's going to feel horrible."

I opened my mouth, shut it. I couldn't believe Nudge was siding with Dylan. "I have to go," I said bitterly.

"I'll talk to you later."

"Can I be completely honest, Max? I know you're worried about this guy in the ski mask. Don't hate me, but I think the only reason you're trying so hard to pin it on Dylan is because you don't want it to be Fang. You're rationalizing everything, and it's freaking me out."

I was speechless. "Rationalizing? Patch didn't show up at my door this morning and slam me against my house."

"You know what? I shouldn't have brought it up. Let's just drop it, okay?"

"Fine," I said stiffly.

"So…what are you doing today?"

I poked my head out the door, listening for my mom. The sound of a whisk scraping the side of a bowl carried up from the kitchen. She wanted to know my plans? Fine by me. It wasn't my problem if she didn't like them. "I'm driving to Portland as soon as my mom leaves for a wedding at Old Orchard Beach." The wedding started at 4 p.m., and with the reception following, my mom wouldn't get home until 9 p.m. at the earliest. Which gave me enough time to spend the evening in Portland, and beat her home. "Actually, I was wondering if maybe I could borrow the Neon. I don't want my mom to see the miles I put on my car."

"Oh, boy. You're going to spy on Dylan, aren't you? You're going to snoop around Kinghorn."

"I just want answers. Is that so bad?"

"No, but it's dangerous there."

"You have a best friend who's a badass, shall I say more?"

"Fine. You're right, but I have two conditions. Take a pepper spray with you and if we get to go camping," she said.

"I'll take the bus. Bye." And I hung up.

I'd been to Portland on several occasions, but I didn't know the city well. I stepped off the bus armed with my cell, a map, and my own inner compass. The buildings were redbrick, tall and slender, blocking the setting sun, which blazed out from below a thick stretch of storm clouds, settling the streets under a canopy of shadow. The storefronts all had verandas and quaint signs extending over the doors. The streets were lit by black witch hat lamps. After several blocks, the congested streets opened up to a wooded area, and I saw a sign for Kinghorn Prep. A cathedral, steeple, and clock tower peered above the treetops.

I stayed on the sidewalk and rounded the corner onto 32nd Street. The harbor was only a few blocks away, and I caught glimpses of boats passing behind the shops as they came in to dock. Halfway down 32nd Street, I saw a sign for Blind Joe's diner. I pulled my interview questions out and read them over one last time. The plan wasn't to look like I was holding an official interview. I hoped that if I casually broached the subject of Miranda with the employees, I could tease out something the handful of reporters before me had somehow missed. Hoping the questions were stored to memory, I underhanded the list into the nearest trash can.

The door chimed when I entered.

The floor was yellow and white tile, and the booths were upholstered in nautical blue. Pictures of the harbor hung on the walls. I sat in a booth close to the door and shrugged out of my coat.

A waitress in a stained white apron appeared beside me. "Name's Kelly," she told me in a sour voice.

"Welcome to Blind Joe's. Special today is the tuna fish sandwich. Soup of the day's lobster chowder."

Her pen was poised to take my order.

"Blind Joe's?" I frowned and tapped my chin. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"Don't you read the paper? We were in the news for a week straight last month. Fifteen minutes and all that."

"Oh!" I said with sudden clarity. "Now I remember. There was a murder, right? Didn't the girl work here?"

She clicked her pen impatiently as an answer. "Want me to bring out a bowl of that chowder to start?"

I didn't want lobster chowder. In fact, I wasn't remotely hungry. "That must have been hard. Were the two of you friends?"

"Hell, no. You going to order or what?"

I wished the waiter across the room were taking my order. He was short, bald back to his ears, and his body type mimicked the toothpicks in the dispenser at the end of the table. His eyes never reached higher than three feet off the ground. One friendly smile from me might have been enough to have him spilling Miranda's entire life story. "Sorry," I told Kelly. "I just can't stop thinking about the murder. Of course, it's probably old news to you. You must have had reporters in here all the time asking questions."

She gave me a pointed look. "Need a few more minutes to look over the menu?"

"Personally, I find reporters irritating."

She leaned in, bracing a hand on the tabletop. "I find customers who take their own sweet time irritating."

I blew out a silent sigh and flipped open the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"It's all good. Ask my boyfriend." She gave a tight smile. "He's the cook."

"Speaking of boyfriends…did Miranda have one?" Nice segue, I told myself.

"Spill," Kelly demanded. "You a cop? A lawyer? A reporter?"

"Just a concerned citizen."

"Yeah, right. Tell you what. Order a milkshake, fries, the Angus burger, a bowl of chowder, and give me a twenty five percent tip, and I'll tell you what I told everybody else."

I weighed my options: my allowance or answers. "Done."

"Miranda hooked up with that kid, Dylan whatever his last name is. The one in the papers. He was in here all the time. Walked her back to her apartment at the end of her shift."

"Did you ever talk to Dylan?"

"Not me."

"Do you think Miranda committed suicide?"

"How should I know?"

"I read in the newspaper that a suicide note was found in Miranda's apartment, but that there was also evidence of a break -in."

"And?"

"You don't find that a little…odd?"

"If you're asking if I think Dylan could have put the note in her apartment, sure I do. Rich kid like that could get away with anything. Probably hired somebody to plant the note. That's how it works when you got money."

"I don't think Dylan has a lot of money." My impression had always been that Hunter was the wealthy one. Nudge never stopped raving about his house. "I think he went to Kinghorn Prep on scholarship."

"Scholarship?" she repeated on a snort. "What's in the water you been drinking? If Dylan don't got big time money, how'd he buy Miranda her apartment? Tell me that."

I struggled to hold my surprise in check. "He bought her an apartment?"

"She never shut up about it. About drove me insane."

"Why would he buy her an apartment?"

Kelly stared down at me, hands on hips. "Tell me you ain't really that dumb."

Oh. Privacy. Intimacy. Got it.

I said, "Do you know why Dylan transferred out of Kinghorn?"

"Didn't know he did."

I juggled her answers with the questions I still wanted to ask, trying to summon them up from memory.

"Did he ever meet friends here? Anyone other than Miranda?"

"How'm I supposed to remember that?" She gave a hard eye roll. "I look like I got one of them photographic memories?"

"How about a really tall guy? Really tall. Long blond hair, good -looking, tailored clothes."

"Yeah, I remember that guy. Hard not to. All moody and quiet. He came in once or twice. Wasn't that long ago. Maybe around the time Miranda died. I remember 'cause we were serving corned beef sandwiches for St. Patrick's Day and I couldn't get him to order one. Just glared at me like he would have reached across the table and slit my throat if I'd stuck around reading the daily specials any longer. But I think I remember something. It's not like I'm nosy, but I do got ears. Sometimes I can't help hearing things. Last time the tall guy and Dylan came in, they were hunched over a table, talking about a test."

"A test at school?"

"How should I know? From the sound of it, the tall guy failed a test, and Dylan was none too happy about it. He shoved his chair back and stormed out. Didn't even eat all his sandwich."

"Did they mention Miranda?"

"The tall guy came in first, asked if she was working. I told him no, she wasn't, and he got on his cell phone. Ten minutes later, Dylan strolls in. Miranda always handled Dylan's table, but like I said, she wasn't working, so I got it. If they talked about her, I didn't hear. But it looked to me like the tall guy didn't want Miranda around."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Depends. You going to order dessert?"

"I guess I'll have a slice of pie."

"Pie? I give you five minutes of my valuable time, and all you order is pie? I look like I got nothing better to do than chitchat with you?"

I glanced around the diner. It was dead. Other than a man hunched over a paper at the counter, I was the only customer.

"Okay…" I scanned the menu.

"You're going to want a raspberry lemonade to wash that pie down." She scribbled it on her pad. "And after dinner coffee." More scribbling. "I'll be looking forward to an additional twenty percent tip with that." She pinned me with a smug smile, then tucked her pad into her apron and sashayed back to the kitchen. There goes my allowance…


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21**

After eating most of the food, but also eating bites of the other plates, I paid and went outside. And man, was it COLD! I hurried out of Blind Joe's, grateful I'd looked at the weather forecast earlier and brought my umbrella. As I passed storefront windows, I saw crowds gathering in the bars.

I was a few blocks from the bus stop when the now familiar icy feeling kissed the back of my neck. I'd felt it the night I was sure someone looked in my bedroom window, at Delphic, and again right before Nudge walked out of Victoria's Secret wearing my jacket. I bent down, pretended to tie my shoelace, and cast a surreptitious glance around. The sidewalks on both sides of the street were empty.

I strolled down the street, and turned at the corner of the street, where I met a couple of smokers. One of the guys smiled at me, and I gave him my death glare, he stepped back when I passed. I kept my tough face on, until I reached the bus station.

I heard the rumble of the bus, and a moment later it rounded the corner, materializing out of the fog. It slowed against the curb and I climbed aboard, heading home. I was the only passenger.

Taking a seat several rows behind the driver, I slouched to keep out of sight. He jerked the lever to close the doors, and the bus roared down the street. I was on the verge of offering a sigh of relief when I received a text message from Nudge.

WHERE U AT?

PORTLAND, I TEXTED BACK. YOU?

ME 2. AT A PARTY WITH HUNTER AND DYLAN. LET'S MEET UP.

WHY ARE YOU IN PORTLAND?!

I didn't wait for her answer; I dialed her directly. Talking was faster. And this was urgent.

"Well? What say you?" Nudge asked. "Are you in the partying mood?"

"Does your mom know you're at a party in Portland with two guys?"

"You're starting to sound neurotic."

"I can't believe you came to Portland with Dylan!" I had a sinking thought. "Does he know you're on the phone with me?"

"So he can come kill you? No, sorry. He and Dylan ran to Kinghorn to pick up something, and I'm chilling solo. I could use a wingwoman. Hey!" Nudge shouted into the background. "Hands off, okay? O F F. Max? I'm not exactly in the greatest area. Time is of the essence."

"Where are you?"

"Hang on…okay, the building across the street says one seven two seven. The street is Highsmith, I'm pretty sure."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. But I'm not staying. I'm going home, and you're coming with me. Stop the bus!" I called to the driver.

He applied the brakes, and I was thrown against the seat in front of me.

"Can you tell me which way to Highsmith?" I asked him once I'd made it to the top of the aisle.

He pointed out the windows paneling the right side of the bus. "West of here. You planning to go on foot?" He surveyed me up and down. "'Cause I should warn you, it's a rough neighborhood."

"Rough is my middle name," I said and jumped off. I had to walk only a few blocks before I knew the bus driver had been right to warn me. The scenery changed drastically. The quaint storefronts were replaced by buildings spray painted with gang graffiti.

The windows were dark, barred up with iron. The sidewalks were desolate paths stretching into the fog. I saw a woman smoking. I walked toward her to ask for help.

"Yeah sweetheart?" asked the black haired woman.

"Can you tell me how much farther to Highsmith Street?"

She smiled.

"A bus driver pointed me in this direction," I said with confidence.

"He told you Highsmith is this way?" she said, sounding irritated. "I know the way to Highsmith, and this ain't it."

I waited, but she didn't elaborate. "Do you think you could give me directions?" I asked.

"I got directions." She tapped her head with a finger.

"Which way is Highsmith?" I encouraged.

"But I can't tell you for free," she said in a chiding tone. "That's gonna cost you. A girl has to make a living. Nobody ever tell you ain't nothing in life free?"

"I don't have any money." Not much, anyway. Only enough for a bus fare home.

"Give me your coat."

I hesitated. I unzipped my coat and gave it to her. Nudge so owes me. Good thing I have a black long sleeve shirt. My breath came out like smoke. I hugged myself and stamped my feet, conserving body heat. "Can you please tell me the way to Highsmith now?"

"You want the long way, or the short way?"

"Sh- short," I chattered.

"That's gonna cost you too. Short way's got an additional fee attached. Give me your gloves." I gave her my leather on the outside and fuzzy on the inside gloves.

"See that alley?" she said, pointing behind me. I turned. The alley was a half block back. "You take it, you come out on Highsmith on the other side."

"That's it?" I said incredulously. "One block over?"

"Good news is, you got a short walk. Bad news is, ain't no walk feel short in this weather." I thanked her and walked away into the alley.

The alley was dark and cluttered with trash bins, water stained cardboard boxes, and an unrecognizable hump that may have been a discarded water heater. Then again, it just as easily could have been a rug with a body rolled inside. A high chain link fence spanned the alley halfway down. I could hardly climb a four foot fence on a good day, let alone a ten foot one. Brick buildings flanked me on both sides. All the windows were greased over and barred.

Stepping over crates and sacks of trash, I picked my way down the alley. Broken glass crunched beneath my shoes. A flash of white darted between my legs, stealing my breath. A cat. Just a cat, vanishing into the darkness ahead.

I reached for my pocket to text Nudge, intending to tell her I was close and to watch for me, when I remembered I'd left my cell phone in my coat pocket. Nice going, I thought. What are the chances the bag lady will give you back your phone? Precisely—slim to none.

I decided it was worth a try, and as I turned around, a sleek black sedan sped past the opening to the alley. With a sudden glow of red, the brake lights lit up.

For reasons I couldn't explain beyond intuition, I drew into the shadows.

A car door opened and the crackle of gunfire broke out. Two shots. The car door slammed and the black sedan screeched away. I could hear my heart hammering in my chest, and it blended with the sound of running feet. I realized a moment later that they were my feet, and I was running to the mouth of the alley. I rounded the corner and came up short.

The smoking lady's body was in a heap on the sidewalk.

I rushed over and fell on my knees beside her. "Are you okay?" I said frantically, rolling her over. Her mouth was agape, her raisin eyes hollow. Dark liquid flowered through the quilted coat I'd been wearing three minutes ago.

I felt the urge to jump back but forced myself to reach inside the coat pockets. I needed to call for help, but my cell phone wasn't there.

There was a phone booth on the corner across the street. I ran to it and dialed 911. While I waited for the operator to pick up, I glanced back at the lady's body, and that's when I felt cold adrenaline shoot through me. The body was gone.

With a shaky hand, I hung up. The sound of approaching footsteps tapped in my ears, but whether they were near or far, I couldn't tell.

Clip, clip, clip.

He's here, I thought. The man in the ski mask.

I shoved a few coins into the phone and gripped the receiver with both hands. I tried to remember Fang's cellphone number. Squeezing my eyes shut, I visualized the seven numbers he'd written in red ink on my hand the first day we met. Before I could second guess my memory, I dialed the numbers.

"Hello?"

I smiled at the sound of his deep voice. I heard the sound of pool balls hit each other. He's at Bo's.

"It's me," I muttered.

"Max?" he gasped. "I'm in P- Portland. On the corner of Hempshire and Nantucket. Can you pick me up? It's urgent."

My back was against the building in the alley, in the shadows. I think Fang could see me, since a purple strand of hair was visible, when I heard a car close. I froze, hoping it was the van, I should back away, but I froze, and kept my eyes closed.

"Max!" he whispered/hissed. I opened my eyes and found him in front of me, taking his jacket off. He wrapped it around me, and pulled me to his chest, heat radiating off him. My face was buried in his chest. Fang buried his face in the crook of my neck, and pulled away after ten seconds. My heart picked up speed. Fang kissed my hair, making me blush and I am not complaining this time, since it brought heat to my face. Fang stroked my cheek, before pulling me into his Jeep.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said. The world tilted, including Fang. "I need my iron pills."

"Shh," he said, holding me against him. "It's going to be all right. I'm here now."

I managed a little nod.

"Let's get you home," he said. I nodded again. Fang cranked up the heat.

While Fang drove the Jeep around the corner, I listened to my chattering teeth echo around inside my head. I'd never been this frightened in my life. Seeing the dead woman conjured up thoughts of my dad. My vision was tinged with red, and hard as I tried, I couldn't flush out the image of blood.

"Were you in the middle of a pool game?" I asked, remembering the sound of billiard balls colliding in the background during our brief phone conversation.

"I was winning a condo."

"A condo?"

"One of those swank ones on the lake. I would have hated the place. This is Highsmith. Do you have an address?"

"I can't remember it," I said, sitting up taller to get a better look out the windows. All of the buildings looked abandoned. There was no trace of a party. There was no trace of life, period.

"Do you have your cell?" I asked Fang.

He slid a Blackberry out of his pocket. "Battery's low. I don't know if it will make a call."

I texted Nudge. WHERE ARE YOU?!

CHANGE OF PLANS, she texted back. GUESS H AND D COULDN'T FIND WHAT THEY WERE LOOKING 4. WE'RE GOING HOME.

The screen drained to black.

"It died," I told Fang. "Do you have the charger?"

"Not on me."

"Nudge's going back to Coldwater. Do you think you could drop me off at her house?"

Minutes later we were on the coastal highway, driving right along a cliff just above the ocean. I'd been this way before, and when the sun was out, the water was slate blue with patches of dark green where the water reflected the evergreens. It was night, and the ocean was smooth black poison.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Fang asked. Should I tell him? I trust him yeah, and it's the least I could do, since he saved me from dying in the cold.

"I…I wanted to ask for directions to where Nudge was. I asked a woman for help, she gave me directions, in exchange for my coat. You can imagine what happened there," I breathed out the last part.

"Maximum Ride, what the hell were you doing here?" he asked.

"Meeting Nudge at a party," I mumbled.

We were halfway between Portland and Coldwater, on a stretch of lush and unpopulated highway, when steam spewed suddenly from the hood of the Jeep. Patch braked, easing the Jeep to the roadside.

"Hang on," he said, swinging out. Lifting the hood of the Jeep, he disappeared out of sight.

A minute later he dropped the hood back in place. Brushing his hands on his pants, he came around to my window, gesturing for me to lower it.

"Bad news," he said. "It's the engine."

I tried to look informed and intelligent, but I had a feeling my expression just looked blank.

Fang raised an eyebrow and said, "May it rest in peace."

"It won't move?"

"Not unless we push it."

Of all the cars, he had to win the lemon. I got off.

"What are you doing?"

"My dad thought me a few things on how to fix cars," I said. I examined the engine. Fang stood beside me, examining it. I noticed the engine was different than what I'm used to, but I examined it. The charge pipe, the distributer's wires and the intake pipe were all broken. The wires were tangled, and the pipes were broken in two.

"I can't fix it," I sighed. I looked over at Fang, who studied me intently.

"Where's your cell?" Fang asked.

"I lost it."

"I'm guessing inside your coat?"

"Bingo, sherlock" he smiled.

He scouted the horizon. "Two choices. We can flag down a ride, or we can walk to the next exit and find a phone."

"I think there's a motel at the next exit. I'll go c -c -call a cab," I said, my teeth chattering harder. "Y -y-you wait here with the Jeep."

He cracked a slight smile, but it didn't look amused. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're looking a little deranged, love. We'll go together."

Crossing my arms, I stood up to him. In tennis shoes, my eyes came level with his shoulders. I was forced to tilt my neck back to meet his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere near a motel with you." Best to sound firm so I was less likely to change my mind.

"You think the two of us and a slummy motel make for a dangerous combination?"

Yes, actually.

Fang leaned back against the Jeep. "We can sit here and argue this." He squinted up at the riotous sky.

"But this storm is about to catch its second wind."

As if Mother Nature wanted her say in the verdict, the sky opened and a thick concoction of rain and sleet hailed down.

I sent Fang my coldest look, then blew out an angry sigh.

As usual, he had a point.

Asshole, I thought.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 22**

Fang and I had walked to a low budget hotel, and I hadn't talked to him along the way, a few steps ahead of him. We walked up to the desk; the dude behind it was sleeping. I cleared my throat, which only made him stir. I banged my hand on the desk, which made him stand up and blink a few times.

He sighed and smiled at us. "What'll it be?"

"Just you two tonight?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Fang.

"We n-n-need to borrow the p-phone," I stuttered.

"Sorry miss, the lines are down thanks to the storm," he said. No effin way. Just my luck.

"Do you at l-l-least have a c-cell?" I said. The clerk looked at Fang.

"She wants a non-smoking room," said Fang. I raised my foot and stomped on his foot. I received his hands gripping my waist, until I batted them away.

The clerk tapped a few keys at his computer. "Here we go…a nonsmoking king!"

"We'll take it," said Fang. He looked sideways at me, and the edges of his mouth tipped up. I narrowed my eyes. Then the lights overhead blinked out. After a minute or so, the clerk turned on his flashlight, grumbling about the "stupid lights".

"How would you like to pay?"

"Cash," Fang said.

The desk clerk chuckled, bobbing his head up and down. "It's a popular form of payment here." He leaned close and spoke in confidential tones. "We get a lot of folks who don't want their extracurricular activities traced, if you know what I mean."

The logical half of my brain was telling me I couldn't actually be considering spending the night at a motel with Fang.

"This is crazy," I told Fang in an undertone.

"I'm crazy." He was on the brink of smiling again. "About you." With that he stroked my cheek once, before he turned his attention back to the clerk. I blushed furiously and looked down, ignoring my racing heart.

"How much for the flashlight?" he asked the clerk.

The clerk reached below the desk. "I've got something even better: survival -size candles," he said, placing two in front of us. Striking a match, he lit one. "They're on the house, no extra charge. Put one in the bathroom and one in the sleeping area and you'll never know the difference. I'll even throw in the matchbook. If nothing else, it'll make a good keepsake."

"Thanks," Fang said, taking my elbow and walking me down the hall. We went inside room 107 and he light up the other one, placing one on the nightstand and the other one in the bathroom. Then Fang turned around to face me.

"You need a hot shower," he murmured. I opened my mouth to protest, but he leaned into me and kissed my forehead. I stepped back and went into the bathroom.

Cranking the water to full hot, I peeled out of my clothes. Then I stepped behind the shower curtain, watching my skin glow with heat.

Massaging soap into the muscles along my neck and down through my shoulders, I told myself I could handle sleeping in the same room as Fang. It wasn't the smartest or safest arrangement, but I'd personally see to it that nothing happened. Besides, what choice did I have…right?

The spontaneous reckless half of my brain laughed at me. I knew what it was thinking. Early on I'd felt drawn to Fang by a mysterious force field. Now I felt drawn to him by something entirely different.

Something with a lot of heat involved. A connection tonight was inevitable. On a scale of one to ten, that terrified me about an eight. And excited me about a nine.

I shut off the water, stepped out, and patted my skin dry. One glance at my soaked clothes was all I needed to know I had no desire to put them back on. Maybe there was a coin operated dryer nearby…one that didn't require electricity. I sighed and pulled on my camisole and panties, which had survived the worst of the rain.

"Fang?" I whispered through the door.

"Done?"

"Blow out the candle."

"Done," he whispered back through the door. His laughter, too, sounded so soft it could have been whispered.

Snuffing out the bathroom candle, I stepped out, meeting total blackness. I could hear Fang breathing directly in front of me. I didn't want to think about what he was—or wasn't— wearing, and I shook my head to fragment the picture forming in my mind. "My clothes are soaked. I don't have anything to wear."

I heard the sound of wet fabric sliding like a squeegee over his skin. "Lucky me." His shirt landed in a wet heap at our feet.

"This is really awkward," I told him.

I could feel him smiling. He stood way, way too close.

"You should shower," I said. "Right now."

"I smell that bad?"

Actually, he smelled that good. The smoke was gone, the mint stronger.

Fang disappeared inside the bathroom. He relit the candle and left the door ajar, a sliver of light stretching across the floor and up one wall.

I slid my back down the wall until I was seated on the floor, then tipped my head against the wall. In all honesty, I couldn't stay here tonight. I had to get home. It was wrong to stay here alone with Fang, vow of prudence or not. I couldn't stay here knowing Nudge was with Dylan, in danger, when I was safe.

After a moment's consideration I decided I needed to rephrase that thought. Safe was a relative term.

As long as Fang was around, I wasn't in harm's way, but that didn't mean I thought he was going to act like my guardian angel, either.

Right away, I wished I could take back the guardian angel thought. Summoning up my powers of persuasion, I banished all thoughts of angels—guardian, fallen, or otherwise—from my head. I told myself I probably was going insane. I'd probably hallucinated seeing Fang's scars.

The water stopped, and a moment later Fang strolled out wearing only his wet jeans hanging low on his waist. He left the bathroom candle lit and the door wide. Soft color glowed through the room.

One quick look and I could tell Fang clocked several hours a week running and lifting weights. A body that defined didn't come without sweat and work. Suddenly I felt a little self conscious. Not to mention soft.

"Which side of the bed do you want?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows in response.

A fox smile. "Nervous?"

"You wish," I scoffed.

"Come here," he said, pulling me to my feet and drawing me close, his hands resting on my waist. I gulped.

A mirror hung on the wall behind him, and over his shoulder I saw the upside down V scars gleaming black on his skin.

My whole body went rigid. I tried to blink the scars away, but they were there for good.

Without thinking, I slid my hands up his chest and around to his back. A fingertip brushed his right scar.

Fang tensed under my touch. I froze, the tip of my finger quivering on his scar. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't actually my finger moving, but me. All of me.

Then it happened. I was sucked into a soft, dark chute and everything went black.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 23**

I was standing in the lower level of Bo's arcade WITH my back to the wall, facing several games of pool. The windows were boarded, and I couldn't tell if it was day or night. Stevie Nicks was coming through the speakers; the song about the white winged dove and being on the edge of seventeen. Nobody seemed surprised by my sudden appearance out of thin air.

And then I remembered I was wearing nothing but a cami and panties. I'm surprised no one was looking at me.

I pinched myself. Perfectly alive, as far as I could tell.

Waving a hand to clear away the hazy cloud of cigar smoke, I spotted Fang across the room. He was sitting at a poker table, kicked back, holding a hand of cards close to his chest.

I padded barefoot across the room, crossing my arms over my chest, making sure to keep myself covered. "Can we talk?" I hissed in his ear. There was an unnerved quality to my voice. Understandable, since I had no idea how I'd come to find myself at Bo's. One moment I was at the motel, and the next I was here.

Fang pushed a short stack of poker chips into the pile at the center of the table.

"Like maybe now?" I said. "It's kind of urgent…" I trailed off when the calendar on the wall caught my eye. It was eight months behind, showing August of last year. Right before I started sophomore year.

Months before I met Fang. I told myself it was a mistake, that whoever was in charge of ripping off the old months had fallen behind, but at the same time I briefly and unwillingly considered the possibility that the calendar was right where it was supposed to be. And I was not.

I dragged a chair over from the next table and pulled up beside Fang. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.

Footsteps lumbered down the stairs across the room, and the same cashier who'd threatened to throw me out the first time I'd come to the arcade appeared at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Someone upstairs wants a word with you," he told Fang.

Fang raised his eyebrows, transmitting a silent question.

"She wouldn't give her name," the cashier said apologetically. "I asked a couple of times. I told her you were in a private game, but she wouldn't leave. I can throw her out if you want."

"No. Send her down."

Fang played out his hand, gathered his chips, and pushed out of his chair. "I'm out." He walked to the pool table closest to the stairs, rested against it, and slid his hands inside his pockets.

I followed him across the room. I kicked his boots. I flat out punched his face. He didn't flinch, didn't move.

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs, growing closer, and when Miss Dwyer stepped out of the darkened stairwell, I experienced a moment of confusion. Her blond hair was down to her waist and toothpick straight. She was wearing painted on jeans and a pink tank top, and she was barefoot. Dressed this way, she looked even closer to my age.

Fang's face is always a mask, and at any given moment I have no idea what he's thinking. But as soon as he locked eyes on Miss Dwyer, I knew he was surprised. He recovered quickly, all emotion funneling away as his eyes turned guarded and wary. "Bridgid?"

My heart hit a faster cadence. I tried to wrestle my thoughts together, but all I could think was, if I was really eight months in the past, how did Miss Dwyer and Fang know each other? She didn't have a job at school yet. And why was he calling her by her first name?

"How have you been?" Miss Dwyer—Bridgid—asked with a coy smile.

"What are you doing here?" Fang's eyes turned even more watchful, as if he didn't think "what you see is what you get" applied to Bridgid.

"I sneaked out." Her smile twisted up on one side. "I had to see you again. I've been trying for a long time, but security—well, you know. It's not exactly lax. Your kind and my kind—we aren't supposed to mix. But you know that."

"Coming here was a bad idea."

"I know it's been a while, but I was hoping for a slightly more friendly reaction," she said, pushing her lips out in a pout.

Fang didn't answer.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you." Bridgid dimmed her voice to a low, sexy pitch and took a step closer to Fang. "It wasn't easy getting down here. Lucianna is making excuses for why I'm absent. I'm risking her future as well as my own. Don't you want to at least hear what I have to say?"

"Talk."Fang words didn't hold a shred of trust.

"I haven't given up on you. This whole time—" She broke off and blinked back a sudden display of tears. When she spoke again, her voice was more composed but still held a wavering note. "I know how you can get your wings back."

She smiled at Fang, but he didn't return the smile.

"As soon as you get your wings back, you can come home," she said, speaking more confidently.

"Everything will be like it was before. Nothing has changed. Not really."

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch. You have to save a human life. Very judicious, considering the crime that banished you here in the first place."

"What rank will I be?"

All confidence scattered from Bridgid's eyes, and I got the feeling he'd asked the one question she'd hoped to avoid. "I just told you how to get your wings back," she said, sounding a touch condescending. "I think I deserve a thank you—"

"Answer the question." But his grim smile told me he already knew. Or had a very good guess.

Whatever Bridgid's answer was, he wasn't going to like it.

"Fine. You'll be a guardian, all right?"

Fang tipped his head back and laughed softly.

"What's wrong with being a guardian?" Bridgid demanded. "Why isn't it good enough?"

"I have something better in the works."

"Listen to me, Fang. There's nothing better. You're kidding yourself. Any other fallen angel would jump at the chance to get their wings back and become a guardian. Why can't you?" Her voice was choked with bewilderment, irritation, rejection.

Fang pushed up from the pool table. "It was good seeing you again, Bridgid. Have a nice trip back."

Without warning, she curled her fists into his shirt, yanked him close, and crushed a kiss to his mouth.

Very slowly Fang's body turned toward her, his stance softening. His hands came up and skimmed her arms.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy and confusion in my heart. I couldn't breathe. Obviously Miss Dwyer…Bridgid…whoever she was…and Fang had a romantic past together. Were they still together now—in the future? Had she applied for a job at Coldwater High to be closer to Fang? Is that why she was so determined to scare me away from him?

"I should go," said Bridgid, pulling free. "I've already stayed too long. I promised Lucianna I'd hurry."

She lowered her head against his chest. "I miss you," she whispered. "Save one human life, and you'll have your wings again. Come back to me," she begged. "Come home." She broke away suddenly. "I have to go. None of the others can find out I've been down here. I love you." I rolled my eyes and gagged.

As Bridgid turned away, the anxiety vanished from her face. An expression of sly confidence replaced it.

It was the face of someone who'd bluffed their way through a rough hand of cards.

Without warning, Fang caught her by the wrist.

"Now tell me why you're really here," he said.

I shivered at the dark undercurrent in Fang's tone. To an outsider, he looked perfectly calm. But to anyone who'd known him any length of time, it was obvious. He was giving Bridgid a look that said she'd crossed a line and it was in her best interest to hop back across it—now.

Fang steered her toward the bar. He planted her on a bar stool and slid onto the one beside it. I took the one next to Fang, leaning in to hear him above the music.

"What do you mean, what am I here for?" Bridgid stammered. "I told you—"

"You're lying."

Her mouth dropped. "I can't believe—you think—"

"Tell me the truth, right now," said Fang.

Bridgid hesitated before answering. She gave him a fierce glare, then said, "Fine. I know what you're planning to do."

Fang laughed. It was a laugh that said, I have a lot of plans. Which one are you referring to?

"I know you've heard rumors about The Book of Enoch. I also know you think you can do the same thing, but you can't."

Fang folded his arms on the bar. "They sent you here to persuade me to choose a different course, didn't they?" A smile showed in his eyes. "If I'm a threat, the rumors must be true."

"No, they're not. They're rumors."

"If it happened once, it can happen again."

"It never happened. Did you even bother to read The Book of Enoch before you fell?" she challenged.

"Do you know exactly what it says, word for holy word?"

"Maybe you could loan me your copy."

"That's blasphemous! You're forbidden to read it," she cried. "You betrayed every angel in heaven when you fell."

"How many of them know what I'm after?" he asked. "How big of a threat am I?"

She tossed her head side to side. "I can't tell you that. I've already told you more than I should have."

"Are they going to try to stop me?"

"The avenging angels will."

He looked at her with meaning. "Unless they think you talked me out of it."

"Don't look at me like that." She sounded like she was putting all her courage into sounding firm. "I won't lie to protect you. What you're trying to do is wrong. It's not natural."

"Bridgid." Fang spoke her name as a soft threat. He might as well have had her by the arm, twisting it behind her back.

"I can't help you," she said with quiet conviction. "Not that way. Put it out of your mind. Become a guardian angel. Focus on that and forget The Book of Enoch."

Fang planted his elbows on the bar, radiating thought. After a moment he said, "Tell them we talked, and I showed interest in becoming a guardian."

"Interest?" she said, a bit incredulously.

"Interest," he repeated. "Tell them I asked for a name. If I'm going to save a life, I need to know who's at the top of your departing list. I know you're privy to that information as an angel of death."

"That information is sacred and private, and not predictable. The events in this world shift from moment to moment depending on human choices—"

"One name, Bridgid."

"Promise me you'll forget about The Book of Enoch first. Give me your word."

"You'd trust my word?"

"No," she said, "I wouldn't."

Fang laughed coolly and, grabbing a toothpick from the dispenser, walked toward the stairs.

"Fang, wait—," she began. She hopped off the bar stool. "Fang, please wait!"

He looked over his shoulder.

"Maximum Ride," she said, then immediately clamped her hands over her mouth.

There was a faint crack in Fang's expression—a frown of disbelief mixed with annoyance. Which made no sense since, if the calendar on the wall was correct, we hadn't met yet. My name shouldn't have sparked familiarity. "How is she going to die?" he asked.

"Someone wants to kill her."

"Who?"

"I don't know," she said, covering her ears and shaking her head. "There's so much noise and commotion down here. All the images blur together, they come too fast, I can't see clearly. I need to go home. I need peace and calm."

Fang tucked a strand of Bridgid's hair behind her ear and looked at her persuasively. She gave a warm shudder at his touch, then nodded and shut her eyes. "I can't see…I don't see anything…it's useless."

"Who wants to kill Maximum Ride?" Fang urged.

"Wait, I see her," said Bridgid. Her voice turned anxious. "There's a shadow behind her. It's him. He's following her. She doesn't see him…but he's right there. Why doesn't she see him? Why isn't she running? I can't see his face, it's in shadow…"

Bridgid's eyes flew open. She sucked in a quick, sharp breath.

"Who?" Fang said.

Bridgid curled her hands against her mouth. She was trembling as she raised her eyes to Fang's.

"You," she whispered.

I took a sharp intake of air, as my finger moved off Fang's scar.

It took me a moment to reorient myself, so I wasn't ready for Fang, who wrestled me into the bed in an instant. He pinned my wrists above my head.

"You weren't supposed to do that." There was controlled anger in his face, dark and simmering. "What did you see?"

"Get-off-me-you-freak!"

He slid onto my hips, straddling them, eliminating the use of my legs. With my arms still stretched above my head, I couldn't do more than squirm under his weight.

"Get—off—me—or—I'll—kick-your-ass!"

He gave a hard smile that was all lethality around the edges. "Last chance, Max. What did you see?"

I was fighting back tears. He used me.

"You make me sick!" I said. "Who are you? Who are you really?"

His mouth turned even more grim. "We're getting closer."

"You want to kill me!"

Fang's face gave away nothing, but his eyes grew cold.

"The Jeep didn't really die tonight, did it?" I said. "You lied. You brought me here so you could kill me. That's what Bridgid said you want to do. Well, what are you waiting for?" I didn't have a clue where I was going with this, and I didn't care. I was spitting words in an attempt to keep my horror at bay.

"You've been trying to kill me all along. Right from the start. Are you going to kill me now?" I stared at him, hard and unblinking, trying to keep tears from spilling as I remembered the fateful day he'd walked into my life.

"It's tempting."

I twisted beneath him. I tried to roll to my right, then to my left. I finally figured out I was wasting a lot of energy and stopped. Fang settled his eyes on me. They were blacker than I'd ever seen them.

"I bet you like this," I said.

"That would be a smart bet."

I felt my heart pounding clear down in my toes. "Just do it," I said in a challenging voice.

"Kill you?"

I nodded. "But first I want to know why. Of all the billions of people out there, why me?"

"Bad genes."

"That's it? That's the only explanation I get?"

"For now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice rose again. "I get the rest of the story when you finally break down and kill me?"

"I don't have to break down to kill you. If I'd wanted you dead five minutes ago, you'd have died five minutes ago."

I swallowed at the less than cheerful thought.

He brushed his thumb over my birthmark. His touch was deceptively soft, which made it all the more painful to endure.

"What about Bridgid?" I asked, still breathing hard. "She's the same thing you are, isn't she? You're both—angels." My voice cracked on the word.

Fang rotated slightly off my hips, but kept his hands at my wrists. "If I ease up, are you going to hear me out?"

If he eased up, I was going to bolt for the door. "What do you care if I run? You'll just drag me back in here."

"Yeah, but that would cause a scene."

I felt a tear run down my cheek. "This whole time, you were using me, you played me you bastard!" I shouted. One hand kept my wrists above my head, and the other wiped away my tear, then stroking my cheek.

"Get your hands off me," I spat.

He rocked back on his heels, slowly releasing me, testing to see if I'd fight back. I lay on the mattress, breathing hard, my elbows propping me up. Three counts went by, and I hurled myself at him with all the force I had.

I punched him everywhere. I hammered his chest until the bottoms of my fists began to throb.

"Done?" he asked.

"No!" I drove my elbow down into his thigh. "What's the matter with you? Don't you feel anything?"

I rose to my feet, found my balance on the mattress, and kicked him as hard as I could in the stomach.

"You've got one more minute," he said. "Get your anger out of your system. Then I take over."

I didn't know what he meant by "take over," and I didn't want to find out. I made a leaping run off the bed, with the door in sight. Fang snagged me midair and backed me against the wall. His legs were flush with mine, front to front down the length of our thighs.

"I want the truth," I said, struggling not to cry even more. "Did you come to school to kill me? Was that your aim right from the start?"

A muscle in Fang's jaw jumped. "Yes."

I swiped a tear that dared escape. "Are you gloating inside? That's what this is about, isn't it? Getting me to trust you so you could blow it up in my face!" I knew I was being irrationally irate. I should have been terrified and frantic. I should have been doing everything in my power to escape. The most irrational part of all was that I still didn't want to believe he would kill me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't smother that illogical speck of trust.

"I get that you're angry—," said Fang.

"I am ripped apart!" I shouted. Then he cupped my face in his hands, gently. I froze. Fang crushed his lips to mine, pushing me against the wall even more. Little shivers of panic and pleasure shot through me. Fang's hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me against him, as he tilted his head to the side, to deepen the kiss. I kneed him in the groin, causing him to hiss and I pushed him back. Fang began walking towards me again, until I held my hand out to him, motioning him to stop.

"Don't get near me!" I shouted.

The whole night felt unbalanced. It was hard to have a showdown with someone as indifferent as Fang.

No, not indifferent. Perfectly controlled. Down to the last cell in his body.

I heard a voice in my mind. Relax. Trust me.

"You're doing it again, aren't you? Messing with my mind." I remembered the article I'd pulled up when I Googled fallen angels. "You can put more than words in my head, can't you? You can put images—very real images—there."

He didn't deny it.

"The Archangel," I said, finally understanding. "You tried to kill me that night, didn't you? But something went wrong. Then you made me think my cell phone was dead, so I couldn't call Nudge. Did you plan to kill me on the ride home? I want to know how you're making me see what you want!"

His face was carefully expressionless. "I put the words and images there, but it's up to you if you believe them. It's a riddle. The images overlap reality, and you have to figure out which is real."

"Is this a special angel power?"

He shook his head. "Fallen angel power. Any other kind of angel wouldn't invade your privacy, even though they can."

Because other angels were good. And Fang was not.

Fang came closer to me and braced his hands against the wall behind me, one on either side of my head. "I put a thought in Coach's mind to redo the seating chart because I needed to get close to you. I made you think you fell off the Archangel because I wanted to kill you, but I couldn't go through with it. I almost did, but I stopped. I settled for scaring you instead. Then I made you think your cell was dead because I wanted to give you a ride home. When I came inside your house, I picked up a knife. I was going to kill you then."

His voice softened. "You changed my mind."

I sucked in a deep breath. "I don't understand you. When I told you my dad was murdered, you sounded genuinely sorry. When you met my mom, you were nice."

"Nice," Fang repeated. "Let's keep that between you and me."

My head spun faster, and I could feel my pulse beating in my temples. I'd felt this heart pounding panic before. I needed my iron pills. Either that, or Fang was making me think I did.

I tilted my chin up and narrowed my eyes. "Get out of my mind. Right now! "

"I'm not in your mind love."

I bent forward, bracing my hands on my knees, sucking air. "Yes, you are. I feel you. So this is how you're going to do it? Suffocate me?"

Soft popping sounds echoed in my ears, and a blurry black framed my vision. I tried to fill my lungs, but it was like the air had disappeared. The world tilted, and Fang slipped sideways in my vision. I flattened my hand to the wall to steady my balance. The deeper I tried to inhale, the tighter my throat constricted.

Fang moved toward me, but I flung my hand out. "Get away!"

He leaned a shoulder on the wall and faced me, his mouth set with concern.

"Get—away—from—me," I gasped.

He didn't.

"I—can't—breathe!" I choked, clawing at the wall with one hand, clutching my throat with the other.

Suddenly Fang scooped me up and carried me to the chair across the room. "Put your head between your knees," he said, guiding my head down.

I had my head down, breathing rapidly, trying to force air inside my lungs. Very slowly I felt the oxygen creep back into my body.

"Better?" Fang asked after a minute.

I nodded, once.

"Do you have iron pills with you?"

I shook my head.

"Keep your head down and take long, deep breaths."

I followed his instructions, feeling a clamp loosen around my chest. "Thank you," I said quietly.

"Still don't trust my motives?"

"If you want me to trust you, let me touch your scars again."

Fang studied me silently for a long moment. "That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I can't control what you see."

"That's kind of the point."

He waited a few counts before answering. His voice was low, emotions untraceable. "You know I'm hiding things." There was a question attached to it.

I knew Fang lived a life of closed doors and harbored secrets. I wasn't presumptuous enough to think even half of them revolved around me. He lived a different life outside the one he shared with me.

More than once I'd speculated what his other life might be like. I always got the feeling that the less I knew about it, the better.

My lip wobbled. "Give me a reason to trust you."

He sat on the corner of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He bent forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His scars were in full view, the candlelight dancing eerie shadows across their surface. The muscles in his back heightened, then relaxed. "Go ahead," he said quietly. "Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn't."

Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted this. Deep down, I didn't think he was going to kill me. If that was what he wanted, he would have done it already. I glanced at his gruesome scars. Trusting him felt a lot more comfortable than slipping into his past again and having no idea what I might find.

But if I backed out now, Fang would know I was terrified of him. He was opening one of the closed doors just for me and only because I'd asked for it. I couldn't make a request this heavy, then change my mind.

"I won't get trapped in there forever, will I?" I asked.

Fang gave a short laugh. "No."

Summoning my courage, I sat on the bed beside him. For the second time tonight, my finger brushed the peaked ridge of his scar. A hazy gray crowded my vision, working from the edges in. The lights went out.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 24**

I was on my back, my cami sponging up moisture beneath me, blades of grass poking the bare skin on my arms. The moon overhead was nothing more than a sliver, a grin tipped on its side.

Other than the rumble of distant thunder, all was quiet.

I blinked several times in succession, helping my eyes hurry and adapt to the scant light. When I rolled my head sideways, a symmetrical arrangement of curved twigs poking up from the grass solidified in my vision. Very slowly I pulled myself up. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the two black orbs staring at me from just above the curved twigs. My mind worked to place the familiar image. And then, with a horrific flash of recognition, I knew. I was lying next to a human skeleton.

I crawled backward until I came up against an iron fence. I pushed through the muddled moment and recaptured my last memory. I'd touched Patch's scars. Wherever I was, it was somewhere inside his memory.

A voice, male and vaguely familiar, carried through the darkness, singing a low tune. Turning toward it, I saw a labyrinth of headstones stretching like dominoes into the mist. Fang was crouched on top of one. He wore only Levi's and a navy T shirt, even though the night wasn't warm.

"Moonlighting with the dead?" called the familiar voice. Sam. He slouched against a headstone opposite Fang, watching him. He stroked his thumb across his bottom lip.

"Let me guess. You've got it in your mind to possess the dead? I don't know," he said, wagging his head. "Maggots squirming in your eyeholes…and your other orifices, might be carrying things a bit too far."

"This is why I keep you around, Sam. Always seeing things from the bright side."

"Cheshvan starts tonight," Sam said. "What are you doing hanging around in a graveyard?"

"Thinking."

"Thinking?"

"A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision." The corners of Sam's mouth pulled down. "I'm starting to worry about you. Come on. Time to go. The moon turns at midnight. I confess I've got my eye on a betty in town." He gave a catlike purr. "I know you like them red, but I like 'em fair, and once I get into a body, I intend to take care of unfinished business with a blonde who was making eyes at me earlier."

When Fang didn't move, Sam said, "Are you deaf? We've got to go. Gunther-Hagen's oath of fealty. Not ringing a bell? How about this. You're a fallen angel. You can't feel a thing. Until tonight, that is. The next two weeks are Gunther-Hagen's gift to you. Given unwillingly, mind you," he added on a conspirator's grin.

Fang gave Sam a sidelong glance. "What do you know about The Book of Enoch?"

"About as much as any fallen angel: slim to none."

"I was told there's a story in The Book of Enoch. About a fallen angel who becomes human."

Sam doubled over with laughter. "You lost your mind?" He welded the outer edges of his palms together, making an open book with his hands. "The Book of Enoch is a bedtime story. And a good one, by the looks of it. Sent you straight to dreamland."

"I want a human body."

"You'd best be happy with two weeks and a Nephil's body. Half human is better than nothing. Gunther-Hagen can't undo what's been done. He swore an oath, and he has to live up to it. Just like last year. And the year before that—"

"Two weeks isn't enough. I want to be human. Permanently." Fang's eyes cut into Rixon's, daring him to laugh again.

Sam raked his hands through his hair. "The Book of Enoch is a fairy tale. We're fallen angels, not humans. We never were human, and we never will be. End of story. Now, quit goofing around and help me figure out which is the way to Portland." He craned his neck back and observed the inky sky.

Fang swung down off the headstone. "I'm going to become human."

"Sure, mate, sure you can."

"The Book of Enoch says I have to kill my Nephil vassal. I have to kill Gunther-Hagen."

"No, you don't," Sam said with a note of impatience. "You've got to possess him. A process by which you take his body and use it as your own. Not to put a damper on things, but you can't kill him. Nephilim can't die. And have you thought of this? If you could kill him, you couldn't possess him."

"If I kill him, I'll become human and I won't need to possess him."

Sam squeezed the inner corners of his eyes as if he knew his argument was falling on deaf ears and it was giving him a headache. "If we could kill Nephilim, we would have found a way by now. I'm sorry to tell you, but if I don't get into the arms of that blond betty soon, my brains will bake. And a few other parts of my—"

"Two choices," said Fang.

"Eh?"

"Save a human life and become a guardian angel, or kill your Nephil vassal and become human. Take your pick."

"Is this more Book of Enoch rubbish?"

"Bridgid paid me a visit."

Rixon's eyes widened, and he snorted a laugh. "Your psychotic ex? What's she doing down here? Did she fall? Lost her wings, did she?"

"She came down to tell me I can get my wings back if I save a human life."

Sam's eyes got wider. "If you trust her, I say go for it. Nothing wrong with being a guardian. Spending your days keeping mortals out of danger…could be fun, depending on the mortal you're assigned."

"But if you had a choice?" Fang asked.

"Well, my answer depends on one very important distinction. Am I roaring drunk…or have I completely lost my mind?" When Fang didn't laugh, Sam said soberly, "There's no choice. And here's why. I don't believe in The Book of Enoch. If I were you, I'd aim for guardianship. I'm half considering the deal myself. Too bad I don't know any humans on the brink of death."

There was a moment's silence, then Fang seemed to shake off his thoughts. He said, "How much money can we make before midnight?"

"Playing cards or boxing?"

"Cards."

Sam's eyes sparkled. "What do we have here? A pretty boy? Come here and let me give you a proper clatter." He hooked Fang around the neck, pinning him in the crook of his elbow, but Fang got him around the waist and dragged Sam to the grass, where they took turns throwing clobbering punches.

"All right, all right!" Sam bellowed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Just 'cause I can't feel a bloody lip doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of the night walking around with one." He winked.

"Won't increase my chances with the ladies."

"And a black eye will?"

Sam lifted his fingers to his eyes, probing. "You didn't!" he said, swinging a fist at Fang.

I pulled my finger away from Fang's scars. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and my heart pumped much too fast. He looked at me, a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.

I was forced to accept that maybe now wasn't the time to rely on the logical half of my brain. Maybe this was one of those times when I needed to step out of bounds. Stop playing by the rules. Accept the impossible.

"Then you're definitely not human," I said. "You really are a fallen angel. A bad guy."

That squeezed a smile out of Fang. "You think I'm a bad guy?"

"You possess other people's…bodies."

He accepted the statement with a nod.

"Do you want to possess my body?"

"I want to do a lot of things to your body, but that's not one of them."

"What's wrong with the body you have?"

"My body is a lot like glass. Real, but outward, reflecting the world around me. You see and hear me, and I see and hear you. When you touch me, you feel it. I don't experience you in the same way. I can't feel you. I experience everything through a sheet of glass, and the only way I can cut through that sheet is by possessing a human body."

"Or part human."

Fang's mouth tightened at the corners. "When you touched my scars, you saw Hans Gunther-Hagen?" he guessed.

"I heard you talking to Sam. He said you possess Hans's body for two weeks every year during Cheshvan. He said Hans isn't human either. He's Nephilim." The word rolled off my tongue in a whisper.

"Hansis a cross between a fallen angel and a human. He's immortal like an angel but has all the mortal senses. A fallen angel who wants to feel human sensations can do it in a Nephil's body."

"If you can't feel, why did you kiss me?"

Fang traced a finger along my collarbone, then headed south, stopping at my heart. I felt it pounding through my skin. "Because I feel it here, in my heart," he said quietly. "I haven't lost the ability to feel emotion." He watched me closely. "Let me put it this way. Our emotional connection isn't lacking."

Don't panic, I thought. But already my breathing was faster, shallower.

"You mean you can feel happy or sad or—"

"Desire." A barely there smile.

Keep moving forward, I told myself. Don't give your own emotions time to catch up. Deal with them later, after you have answers. "Why did you fall?"

Fang's eyes held mine for a couple of counts. "Lust."

I swallowed. "Money lust?"

Fang stroked his jaw. He only did that when he wanted to conceal what he was thinking, the giveaway to his thoughts being his mouth. He was fighting a smile. "And other kinds. I thought if I fell, I'd become human. The angels who'd tempted Eve had been banished to Earth, and there were rumors that they'd lost their wings and become human. When they left heaven, it wasn't this big ceremony we were all invited to. It was private. I didn't know their wings were ripped out, or that they were cursed to roam Earth with a hunger to possess human bodies. Back then, nobody had even heard of fallen angels. So it made sense in my mind, that if I fell, I'd lose my wings and become human. At the time, I was crazy about a human girl, and it seemed worth the risk."

"Bridgid said you can get your wings back by saving a human life. She said you'll be a guardian angel. You don't want that?" I was confused why he was so set against it.

"It's not for me. I want to be human. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything."

"What about Bridgid? If the two of you aren't together anymore, why is she still here? I thought she was a regular angel. Does she want to be human too?"

Fang went deathly still, all the muscles up his arm going rigid. "Bridgid's still on Earth?"

"She got a job at school. She's the new school psychologist, Miss Dwyer. I've met with her a couple times." My stomach gave a hard twist. "After what I saw in your memory, I thought she took the job to be closer to you."

"What exactly did she tell you when you met with her?"

"To stay away from you. She hinted at your dark and dangerous past." I paused. "Something about this is off, isn't it?" I asked, feeling an ominous prickle make its way down my spine. I need to take you home. Then I'm going to the high-school to look through her files and see if I find something useful. I'll feel better when I know what she's planning."

"Put on your clothes," he said, going to the bathroom and grabbing them. Fang tossed them to me.

My mind was working hard to make sense of the fragments of information. Suddenly my mouth went a little dry and sticky. "She still has feelings for you. Maybe she wants me out of the picture."

Our eyes locked. "It crossed my mind," Fang said.

An icy, disturbing thought had been banging around inside my head the past few minutes, trying to get my attention. It practically shouted at me now, telling me Bridgid could be the guy in the ski mask. All along I thought the person I hit with the Neon was male, just like Nudge thought her attacker was male. At this point, I wouldn't put it past Bridgid to deceive us both.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Fang emerged wearing his wet tee. "I'll go get the Jeep," he said. "I'll pull around to the back exit in twenty. Stay in the motel until then."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 25**

After Fang left, I put the chain on the door. I dragged the chair across the room and rammed it under the door handle. I checked to make sure the window locks were in place. I didn't know if locks would work against Bridgid—I didn't even know if she was after me—but I figured it was better to play it safe. After pacing around the room for a few minutes, I tried the phone on the nightstand. Still no dial tone.

My mom was going to kill me.

I'd sneaked behind her back and gone to Portland. And how was I supposed to explain the whole "I checked into a motel with Fang" situation? I'd be lucky if she didn't ground me through the end of the year. No. I'd be lucky if she didn't quit her job and apply to substitute teach until she found a full time job locally. We'd have to sell the farmhouse, and I'd lose the only connection to my dad I had left.

Approximately fifteen minutes later I peered through the peephole. Nothing but blackness. I unbarred the door, and just as I was about to tug it open, lights flickered on behind me. I whirled around, half expecting to see Bridgid. The room was still and empty, but the electricity was back.

The door opened with a loud click and I stepped into the hall. The carpet was bloodred, worn bald down the center of the hallway, and stained with unidentifiable dark marks. The walls were painted neutral, but the paint job was sloppy and chipping.

Above me, a neon green sign spelled the way to the exit. I followed the arrow down the hall and around the corner. The Jeep rolled to a stop on the other side of the back door, and I dashed out and hopped in on the passenger side.

No lights were on when Fang pulled up to the farmhouse. I experienced a guilty squeeze in my stomach and wondered if my mom was driving around, looking for me. The rain had died, and fog pressed against the siding and hung on the shrubs like Christmas tinsel. The trees dotting the driveway were permanently twisted and misshapen from constant northern winds. All houses look uninviting with the lights off after dark, but the farm house with its small slits for windows, bowed roof, caved in porch, and wild brambles looked haunted.

"I'm going to walk through," Fang said, swinging out.

"Do you think she's inside?"

He shook his head. "But it doesn't hurt to check."

I waited in the Jeep, and a few minutes later Fang walked out the front door. "All clear," he told me.

"I'll drive to the high school and come back here as soon as I sweep her office. Maybe she left something useful behind." He didn't sound like he was counting on it.

I unbuckled my seat belt and ordered my legs to carry me quickly up the walk. As I turned the doorknob, I heard Fang back down the driveway. The porch boards creaked under my feet and I suddenly felt very alone.

Keeping the lights off, I crept through the house room by room, starting with the first floor, then working my way upstairs. Fang had already cleared the house, but I didn't think an extra pair of eyes would hurt. After I was sure no one was hiding under the furniture, behind the shower curtains, or in the closets, I tugged on Levi's and a black V neck sweater. I found the emergency cell phone my mom kept in a first aid kit under the bathroom sink and dialed her cell.

She picked up on the first ring. "Hello? Max? Is that you? Where are you? I've been worried sick!"

I drew a deep breath, praying the right words would come to me and help me talk my way out of this.

"Here's the deal—," I began in my most sincere and apologetic voice. "Cascade Road flooded and they closed it. I had to turn back and get a room in Milliken Mills—that's where I am now. I tried calling home, but apparently the lines are down. I tried your cell, but you didn't pick up."

"Wait. You've been in Milliken Mills this whole time?"

"Where did you think I was?"

I gave an inaudible sigh of relief and lowered myself onto the edge of the bathtub. "I didn't know," I said. "I couldn't get ahold of you, either."

"What number are you calling from?" Mom asked. "I don't recognize this number."

"The emergency cell."

"Where's your phone?"

"I lost it."

"What! Where?"

I came to the rocky conclusion that a lie of omission was the only way to go. I didn't want to alarm her.

I also didn't want to be grounded for an interminable length of time. "It's more like I misplaced it. I'm sure it will pop up somewhere." On a dead woman's body.

"I'll call you as soon as they open the roads," she said.

Next I called Nudge's cell. After five rings I was sent to voice mail.

"Where are you?" I said. "Call me back at this number ASAP." I snapped the phone shut and tucked it into my pocket, trying to convince myself Nudge was fine. But I knew it was a lie. The invisible thread tying us together had been warning me for hours now that she was in danger. If anything, the feeling was heightening with each passing minute.

In the kitchen I saw my bottle of iron pills on the counter, and I immediately went for them, popping the cap and swallowing two with a glass of chocolate milk. I stood in place a moment, letting the iron work into my system, feeling my breathing deepen and slow. I was walking the milk carton back to the fridge when I saw her standing in the doorway between the kitchen and laundry room.

I tensed, my hands curling into fists. A cold, wet substance pooled at my feet, and I realized I'd dropped the milk. "Bridgid?" I said.

She tilted her head to one side, showing mild surprise. "You know my name?" She paused. "Ah, Fang."

Bridgid didn't look anything like she did at school as Miss Dwyer. Tonight her hair was tangled, not smooth, and her lips were brighter, a certain hunger reflected there. Her eyes were sharper, a smudge of black ringing them.

"What do you want?" I asked.

She laughed, and it sounded like ice cubes tinkling in a glass. "I want Fang."

"Fang isn't here." Bitch, please.

Her smile curved high. "No, but I did follow you shopping. I attacked your friend and planted little hints in her mind, making her think Fang hurt her. It wasn't a far stretch. He's not exactly harmless to begin with. It was in my best interest to make you as frightened of him as possible."

"So I'd stay away from him."

"But you didn't. You're still standing in our way."

"In your way of what?"

"Come on, Max. If you know who I am, then you know how this works. I want him to get his wings back. He doesn't belong on Earth. He belongs with me. He made a mistake, and I'm going to correct it." There was absolutely no compromise in her voice. She got off the stool and walked around the island toward me.

I backed along the edge of the outer counter, keeping space between us. Racking my brain, I tried to think of a way to distract her. I couldn't fight her, she's way stronger than me…but that doesn't mean I won't try. My back met with the sideboard.

"As long as you're around, Fang won't return with me," Bridgid said.

"I think you're overestimating his feelings for me." It seemed like a good idea to downplay our relationship. Bridgid's possessiveness appeared to be the main force driving her to act.

An incredulous smile dawned on her face. "You think he has those feelings for you? All this time you thought—" She broke off, laughing. "He's not staying because he loves you. He wants to kill you."

I shook my head. "He's not going to kill me."

Brdigd's smile hardened at the edges. "If that's what you believe, you're just another girl he's seduced to get what he wants. He has a talent for it," she added shrewdly. "He seduced your name right out of me, after all. One soft touch from Fang was all it took. I fell under his spell and told him death was coming for you."

I knew what she was talking about. I'd witnessed the exact moment she was referring to inside Fang's memory.

"And now he's doing the same thing to you," she said. "Betrayal hurts, doesn't it?"

I shook my head slowly. "No—"

"He's planning to use you as a sacrifice!" she erupted. "See that mark?" She thrust her finger at my wrist. "It means you're a female descendant of a Nephil. And not just any Nephil, but Hans Gunther-Hagen, Fang's vassal."

I glanced at my scar, and for one heart stopping moment, I actually believed her. But I knew better than to trust her.

"There's a sacred book, The Book of Enoch," she said. "In it, a fallen angel kills his Nephil vassal by sacrificing one of the Nephil's female descendants. You don't think Fang wants to kill you? What's the one thing he wants most? Once he sacrifices you, he'll be human. He'll have everything he wants. And he won't come home with me."

She unsheathed a large knife from the wood block on the counter. "And that's why I have to get rid of you. It appears that one way or another, my premonitions were right. Death is coming for you."

"Fang is coming back," I said, my insides sickening. "Don't you want to talk this over with him?"

"I'll make it quick," she continued. "I'm an angel of death. I carry souls to the afterlife. As soon as I finish, I'll carry your soul through the veil. You have nothing to be afraid of."

I wanted to scream out, but my voice was trapped at the back of my throat. I edged around the sideboard, putting the kitchen table between us. "If you're an angel, where are your wings?"

"No more questions." Her voice had grown impatient, and she began closing the distance between us in earnest.

"How long has it been since you left heaven?" I asked, stalling. "You've been down here for several months, right? Don't you think the other angels have noticed you're missing?"

"Not another step," she snapped, raising the knife, scattering light off the blade.

"You're going to a lot of trouble for Fang," I said, my voice not nearly as devoid of panic as I wanted.

"I'm surprised you don't resent him for using you when it suits his purpose. I'm surprised you want him to get his wings back at all. After what he did to you, aren't you happy he's banished here?"

"He left me for a worthless human girl!" she spat, her eyes a fiery blue.

"He didn't leave you. Not really. He fell—"

"He fell because he wanted to be human, like her! He had me—he had me!" She gave a scoffing laugh, but it didn't mask the anger or sorrow. "At first I was hurt and angry, and I did everything in my power to forget about him. Then, when the archangels figured out he was seriously attempting to become human, they sent me down here to change his mind. I told myself I wasn't going to fall for him all over again, but what good did it do?"

"He didn't even care that the girl was made from the dust of the earth! You—all of you—are selfish and slovenly! Your bodies are wild and undisciplined. One moment you're at the peak of joy, the next you're on the brink of despair. It's deplorable! No angel will aspire to it!" She flung her arm in a wild arc across her face, wiping away tears. "Look at me! I can barely control myself! I've been down here too long, submerged in human filth!"

I turned and ran from the kitchen, knocking over a chair and leaving it behind me in Bridgid's path. I raced down the hall, knowing I was trapping myself. The house had two exits: the front door, which Bridgid could reach before me by cutting through the living room, and the back door off the dining room, which she blocked.

I was shoved hard from behind, and I pitched forward. I skidded down the hall, coming to a stop on my stomach. I rolled over. Bridgid hovered a few feet above me— in the air—her skin and hair ablaze in blinding white, the knife pointed down at me. I kicked the arm she held the knife with. It clattered next to me. I grabbed it and kicked her in the stomach, making her stumble back. I ran away, knife in hand.

I took the stairs two at a time, using the banister to propel me faster. I heard her laugh behind me, and the next instant the banister broke free, crashing to the hall below. I threw my weight back to keep from falling over the unguarded edge. Catching my balance, I raced up the final stairs. At the top I flung the knife into her shoulder, making it sink into her flesh. She hissed and pulled it out, throwing it up at me, I ducked and ran to my mother's bedroom.

I ran to the fireplace and ducked under the mantel. I had just pulled my feet up, bracing them against the inside of the flue, when the doors swung open, slamming back against the wall. I heard Bridgid stride to the window.

"Maxie!" she called in her delicate, chilling voice. "I know you're close! I sense you. You can't run and you can't hide—I'll burn this house down room by room if that's what it takes to find you! And then I'll burn my way through the fields behind. I'm not leaving you alive!"

A glow of bright gold light sizzled to life outside the fireplace, along with the roaring whoosh of fire igniting. The flames sent shadows dancing in the pit below. I heard the snap and crackle of fire eating up fuel—most likely the furniture or wood floors.

I stayed cramped in the flue. My heart throbbed, sweat leaking from my skin. I drew several breaths, exhaling slowly to manage the burn in my tightly contracted leg muscles. Fang had said he was going to the school. How long until he came back?

Not knowing if she was still in the room, but fearing that if I didn't leave now, the fire would trap me in, I lowered one leg into the pit, then the other. I came out from under the mantel. Bridgid was nowhere in sight, but the flames were licking up the walls, smoke choking all air from the room.

I hurried down the hall, not daring to go downstairs, thinking Bridgid would expect me to try to escape through one of the doors. In my bedroom I opened the window. The tree outside was close enough and sturdy enough to climb. Maybe I could lose her in the fog behind the house. The nearest neighbors were just under a mile away, and running hard, I could be there in seven minutes. I was about to swing my leg out the window when a creak sounded down the hall. I gasped and swung my other leg outside. I was standing on the ledge of the house, next to the window. The window was still open and I used both my hands to cover my mouth, not making any sound. I figured if I jumped I could land on the mud below, not breaking anything. I was about to jump, when two arms caught me midair. I yelped and clawed at the hands.

"Max calm down!" shouted a familiar voice. Fang. I relaxed and let him pull me in. He turned me around and hugged me.

"Are you okay?" he whispered in my ear. I buried my face in his chest and nodded.

"She's here. Bridgid's here. And she's burning down the house," I whispered. Fang handed me a set of keys and curled my fingers around them. "My Jeep's parked on the street. Get in, lock the doors, drive to Delphic, and wait for me." He tipped my chin up to face him. He crushed his lips to mine and kissed me for three seconds.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Take care of Bridgid."

"How?"

He slid me a look that said, Do you really want details?

He was already on his way out the door. "I'll go after Dabria. Drive the Jeep to Delphic and wait for me."

"What about the fire?"

"The police will handle it."

I tightened my grip on the keys. The decision making part of my brain was split, running in opposite directions. I wanted to get out of the house and away from Bridgid, and meet up with Fang later, but there was one nagging thought I couldn't shake free. Bridgid had said Fang needed to sacrifice me to become human.

She hadn't said it lightly, or to get under my skin. Or even to harden me against him. Her words had come out cold and serious. Serious enough that she tried to kill me to stop Fang from getting to me first.

I found the Jeep parked on the street, just like Fang had said. I put the keys in the ignition and floored the Jeep down Hawthorne. Figuring it was pointless to try Nudge's cell again, I dialed her home phone instead.

"Hi, Mrs. Sky," I said, trying to sound like nothing was out of the ordinary. "Is Nudge there?"

"Hi, Max! She left a few hours ago. Something about a party in Portland. I thought she was with you."

"Um, we got separated," I lied. "Did she say where she was going after the party?"

"No. Is everything okay?"

I didn't want to frighten her, but at the same time, I wasn't about to say everything was okay. Not one bit of it felt okay to me. The last time I'd heard from Nudge, she was with Dylan. And now she wasn't answering her cell.

"I don't think so," I said. "I'm going to drive around and look for her. I'll start at the park."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 26**

I drove to the park near school. There were people, especially other teenagers that were with their boyfriends. I told myself Fang would take care of Bridgid and that I had nothing to worry about, but it didn't hurt to be vigilant.

Of course, deep inside, I knew Bridgid wasn't my biggest worry. Sooner or later Fang was going to figure out I wasn't at Delphic. Based on past experience, I didn't have any illusions about being able to hide long term from him. He would find me. And then I'd be forced to confront him with the question I was dreading. More specifically, I dreaded his answer. Because there was a shadow of doubt at the back of my mind, whispering that Bridgid had been telling the truth about what it would take for Fang to get a human body.

I walked around, usually looking over my shoulder, making sure the coast is clear. I sat down by a bench, near a tree. I looked around, hoping Nudge would be here. She likes coming to the park sometimes, when she's not at the mall.

This whole night felt like a dark fairy tale I'd strayed into and couldn't find my way back out of. A fairy tale with fallen angels, human hybrids, and sacrificial killings. I rubbed my thumb over my birthmark. I especially didn't want to think about the possibility that I was descended from one of the Nephilim.

I pulled out the emergency cell phone and checked for missed calls. None.

"Expecting a phone call?" asked a voice behind me. I stiffened. His voice was not happy.

"Stand up and walk to the car. I'll be right behind you."

I didn't move.

"Walk," he said. "We need to talk."

"About how you need to sacrifice me to get a human body?" I asked, my tone cold and hard.

"That might be cute if you thought it was true."

"I do think it's true!" Sort of. But the same thought kept returning—if Fang wanted to kill me, why hadn't he already?

The couple that walked in front of me stared at me if I were crazy.

Fang said, "Walk or I'm going to carry you."

I flipped around. "Excuse me?"

I stood up and speed walked to the nearest bathroom. Fang caught my arm, and led me to a tree that had a wide trunk. My back was against the trunk. Damn, no escape. Even if I did try to escape he'd catch me and bring me back.

Fang's eyes were all over me. And they showed every sign of wanting to rattle me to death. "You're mad because I didn't go to Delphic." I raised one shoulder. "Why Delphic, Fang? It's Sunday night. Delphic will be closing soon. Any special reason you wanted me to drive to a dark, soon to be deserted amusement park?"

He walked toward me until he was standing close enough that I could see his black eyes beneath his ball cap.

"Bridgid told me you have to sacrifice me to get a human body," I said.

Fang was quiet a moment. "And you think I'd go through with it?"

I swallowed. "Then it's true?"

Our eyes locked. "It has to be an intentional sacrifice. Simply killing you won't do it."

"Are you the only person who can do this to me?"

"No, but I'm probably the only person who knows the end result, and the only person who would attempt it. It's the reason I came to school. I had to get close to you. I needed you. It's the reason I walked into your life."

"Bridgid told me you fell for a girl." I hated myself for experiencing irrational pangs of jealousy. This wasn't supposed to be about me. This was supposed to be an interrogation. "What happened?"

"She grew old and died."

"That must have been hard for you," I snapped.

He waited a few counts before answering. His tone was so low, I shivered. "You want me to come clean, I will. I'll tell you everything. Who I am and what I've done. Every last detail. I'll dig it all up, but you have to ask. You have to want it. You can see who I was, or you can see who I am now. I'm not good," he said, piercing me with eyes that absorbed all light but reflected none, "but I was worse."

I ignored the roll in my stomach and said, "Tell me."

"The first time I saw her, I was still an angel. It was an instant, possessive lust. It drove me crazy. I didn't know anything about her, except that I would do whatever it took to get close to her. I watched her for a while, and then I got it in my head that if I went down to Earth and possessed a human body, I would be cast out of heaven and become human. The thing is, I didn't know about Cheshvan. I came down on a night in August, but I couldn't possess the body. On my way back to heaven, a host of avenging angels stopped me and ripped out my wings. They tossed me out of the sky. Right away I knew something was wrong. When I looked at humans, all I could feel was an insatiable craving to be inside their bodies. All my powers were stripped, and I was this weak, pathetic thing. I wasn't human. I was fallen. I'd realized I'd given it all up, just like that. All this time I've hated myself for it. I thought I'd given it up for nothing." His eyes focused singularly on me, leaving me feeling transparent. "But if I hadn't fallen, I wouldn't have met you."

My conflicting emotions weighed so heavily inside my chest, I thought they might suffocate me. And yet, I forged ahead. "Bridgid said my birthmark means I'm related to Hans. Is that true?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

I didn't know what I wanted. My whole world felt like a joke, and I was the last one to get the punch line. I wasn't Maximum Ride, normal kick-ass girl. I was the descendant of someone who wasn't even human. And my heart was smashing itself to pieces over another nonhuman. A dark angel. "Which side of my family?" I said at last.

"Your dad's."

"Where's Hans now?"

His boots were flush with the toes of my sneakers. "I'm not going to kill you, Max. I don't kill people who are important to me. And you top the list."

My heart did a nervous flip. My hands were pressed against his stomach, which was so hard even his skin didn't give. I was keeping a pointless safeguard between us, since not even a towering electrical fence would make me feel secure from him.

"You're too close. I need space," I whispered.

What I needed were boundaries. I should have been bolting for the car, and yet…I hadn't. I tried convincing myself I was staying because I needed answers, but that was only part of it. It was the other part I didn't want to think about. The emotional part. The part that was pointless fighting.

"Are you keeping anything else from me?" I wanted to know.

"I'm keeping a lot of things from you."

"Like?"

"Like the way I feel about being here with you." Fang braced one hand against the trunk behind me, his weight tipping toward me. "You have no idea what you do to me."

I sucked in some air. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a police department. If I ran there, I'd be safe. And that's what I wanted…wasn't it?

"Not a good idea," Fang said with a soft shake of his head. I ran toward it anyway, but the farther I ran, the farther the police department would move.

I swiveled around to face him. "Get out of my head." I stormed back and shoved hard against his chest.

Fang took a step back, steadying himself.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For this whole night." For making me crazy about him when I knew it was wrong. He was the worst kind of wrong. He was so wrong it felt right, and that made me feel completely out of control.

I might have been tempted to hit him square in the jaw if he had not taken me by the shoulders and pinned me against the trunk. There was hardly any space left between us, just a thin boundary of air, but he managed to eliminate it.

"Let's be honest, Max. You've got it bad for me." His eyes held a lot of depth. "And I've got it bad for you." He leaned into me and put his mouth on mine. I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, as he walked me backward toward the tree. We kissed for an eternity, he bit my bottom lip, and I sighed, running my hands through his shaggy hair. I pulled away.

"I'm not finished. What happened to Bridgid?"

"All taken care of."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"She wasn't going to keep her wings after plotting to kill you. The moment she tried to get back into heaven, the avenging angels would have stripped them. She had it coming sooner or later. I just sped things up."

"So you just—tore them off?"

"They were deteriorating; the feathers were broken and thin. If she stayed on Earth much longer, it was a signal to every other fallen angel who saw her that she'd fallen. If I didn't do it, one of them would have."

I dodged another one of his advances. "Is she going to make another unwanted appearance in my life?"

"Hard to say."

Lightning quick, Fang caught hold of the hem of my sweater. He reeled me into him. His knuckles brushed the skin of my navel. Heat and ice shot through me simultaneously. "You could take her, love," he said. "I've seen both of you in action, and my bet's on you. You don't need me for that."

"What do I need you for?"

He laughed. Not abruptly, but with a certain low desire. His eyes had lost their edge and were focused wholly on me. His smile was all fox…but softer. Something just behind my navel danced, then coiled lower.

"Can we continue?" he whispered. I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped one leg around his hip. He ran his hand up and down my leg, and growled low in his throat. The he crushed his lips down mine. My pulse pounded, but I didn't mind one little bit. His hands touched everywhere. I moaned a bit when he moved his lips down my neck, pulling my sweater off my shoulder so he could kiss it.

Then my phone rang to life. I answered as Fang continued kissing my neck.

"H-hello?" I said. Fang bit my neck slightly, making me jump a bit and sigh happily.

"Max! Where you at girl?" chirped Nudge. I was not going to say, making out with Fang how about you?. Fang bit onto my shoulder. With my free hand, I cupped the back of his neck and pulled his closer.

"Where are you? Are you still with the nimrod and his sidekick?" Fang snorted and nuzzled my neck, planting kisses along my throat. I gasped when he moved down and hit my sweet spot.

"We're at school. We broke in," she squealed. My jaw dropped and I stumbled back. Nudge always follows rules. She always goes by the rules. This was…unexpected. Then again, she's with Dylan and Hunter.

"Are you crazy!?" I shouted. Fang pulled away and looked at me with worry in his eyes.

"Relaaaax. We want to play hide and seek but don't have enough people for two teams. So … do you know of a fourth person who could come play with us?"

An incoherent voice mumbled in the background.

"Dylan wants me to tell you that if you don't come be his partner—hang on—what?" Nudge said into the background.

Dylan's voice came on. "Max? Come play with us. Otherwise, there's a tree in the common area with Nudge's name on it."

Pure ice flowed through me. I stiffened and curled my hands into tight fists.

"If you touch her, you son of a bitch I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you."

I heard him laugh and then I heard a beep. The connection died.


End file.
